


Waltzing With Destiny

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Mission Fic, Mythology - Freeform, War, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4.5 AU (from "No Exit"). 'All Along the Watchtower' connects the Cylons and Kara, so she uses it to wake Sam after the events of "Someone to Watch Over Me" and he returns like Ellen with all his memories. With such forces at work in the fleet, Kara and Sam must work together to fit the pieces of their destinies into the bigger picture, the one where the song and the Opera House are all helping Kara lead humanity to its end as the Hybrid foretold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Simply put, this is my 4.5 ending rewrite; it's most of what I wanted (and didn't quite get) from the last few episodes of BSG. Mainly, this focuses on the supernatural aspects and how they should have fit together and made sense; also the idea of destiny, which is not the same as pre-destination, and how it affected both Kara and Sam in canon but that it would have been more pronounced had Sam not been hybridized. Prompted by a twelvecolonies fic challenge, the story title comes from the song "Dark Waltz" by Hayley Westenra, and all chapter titles come from the Razor Hybrid's dialogue.

**Chapter 1** \- _Their destinies spilling out before me  
_  
Some moments imprinted themselves, every smell and sound and word in excruciatingly accurate tones. Zak’s last words before his Viper smashed into shrapnel. The smell of the apartment where Leoben had held her for months. The feel of Earth’s nuclear-blasted sands. Kara left the infirmary before Ishay could add to her list, not even paying heed to Cottle’s rebuke and then reassurance to her that comas were not set in stone.

Moments she couldn’t have seen coming from a mile away. Moments she didn’t know what to do with when they happened. She couldn’t explain how yet, but her world had changed, and she was lost again.

Kara didn’t remember where Helo found her, if it was in Joe’s or if she made it to the wall of death on her own. She shouldn’t have been there, but she didn’t care. Her thumb brushed over the faces on the grainy picture in her hand, Sam’s and hers, happy even while blurred. She swallowed. She wondered how true it would be if she had to put it up as it was, putting them both where they might belong: no longer in the land of the living.

“You know, Karl,” she remembered saying, looking at the hanging pictures of Kat and Dee, “the thing about Cylons was that they couldn’t die. I don’t talk to Sam for all those weeks because he’s a Cylon, but here we go and I can’t, and why? Because he can die.”

“What do you want me to say, Kara, that it’s all your fault, what you feel now?” Helo said, standing just behind her shoulder.

Kara shook her head, a choking laugh threatening to escape. “I don’t know what I want, Karl.

“Well, you don’t want me to say that, because it’s a lie,” he said, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

But Kara couldn’t say anything back because the picture in her hand was so close to those pictures on the wall, and it was too acute and she couldn’t think about death. She couldn’t think about life either.

“I need to go, Karl,” she murmured.

She didn’t hear his response as her feet found the way to the infirmary again, stumbling a little. Sam’s bed had been pushed out of the way and a curtain wrapped around it, all set away from everything.

Cottle would have told her to go sleep off both emotion and drunken stupor, if he had been the sort of man to approach a woman worn and in pieces, exhaustedly leaning against her husband’s arm because at least here no one could say she didn’t belong. Kara’s hair splayed out across Sam’s arm, her cheek planted against the ring of his tattoo, her eyes shut and breathing on the verge of shaking, and she couldn’t even explain why to herself.

Earth, the fleet, the rest of the mutiny—it would still be there when Sam had finally gone. This was the darkness before the loss, the sick free-fall feeling, the ripping of pulling apart, and focusing on anything else would be difficult.

Her mind found oblivion for a few minutes, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors just loud enough to distract from the buzz of the rest of the infirmary around her. Kara woke later with the taste of emptiness in her mouth.

“You need to rest,” Cottle said when he came, and though he didn’t touch her arm, for which she was grateful, his words bit at her.

She glared.

“Ishay wasn’t using correct medical terminology, I hope you know,” he said pointedly. “He’s not braindead. It’s a deep coma, but you don’t need to start grieving yet.”

“Just frak off,” Kara muttered, starting to rise because she couldn’t stay around people if it would be like this. If it would be too frank, too close.

“I think not,” Cottle snorted, and this time he did touch her arm, just to stop her for a second.

Kara felt the itch of frustration and refused to look in his eyes.

“I’ve known you long enough to know that your gut doesn’t always make the right choice,” Cottle said in a low tone. “You don’t know everything.”

Kara just stood stiffly until he let go. This was about control, like it always was. That if you hoped long enough, you weren’t letting the darkness rule you. And if it turned out that it did, you’d tumble down into the abyss all in an instant. Kara wasn’t good at letting go, but her mind told her strongly enough that she couldn’t control this. She didn’t want to fall, so she had to let herself down slowly. Even if it killed her.

No one approached her the whole day, not even Helo. The mutiny was on most everyone’s minds, and Kara just ordered drink after drink, until the bullet she played with started spinning even when her fingers held it still. She stared at it, eyes blurry, and knew that this was just the preparation. It couldn’t last.

Weary again, she found Sam’s side and fell asleep near him. His mind was so far away; distance didn’t seem to matter but it did. She wasn’t ready to let go. But Kara couldn’t sleep long, and maybe it was the new twist to her nightmares, the corpse off in the distance that terrified her—and she didn’t know if it was because she thought it was Sam’s, or because she thought it was her own. Or maybe her restless sleep was due to the rhythmic beat of the medical machines that spoke of things that weren’t ever going to change.

She woke when something brushed her arm. Heart twisting, she looked to Sam, but his arm couldn’t have moved. She hated herself for the moment of weakness, for begging for some kind of hope in her mind instead of just accepting the inevitable.

Then she noticed the curtain still around where she sat next to Sam, and it hung still, and no one was inside but her and Sam. But something had touched her arm.

She sat up, glanced over her right shoulder, saw a stool that wasn’t really there, and a hand that wasn’t really there but had touched her. He looked like Leoben. Only not, because he wasn’t really there either.

“Are you Leoben?” she demanded, sitting up straight.

“This time you ask first,” he said, a quirk in his lips already, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees like a priest hearing confession.

Kara swallowed a slight slur, turned towards him, angry at what her mind was doing to her now. “First and last time, if I have any—what are you doing here? Because I am not in the mood for destiny crap. Hell, I _did_ your destiny crap.”

“You believe your destiny is so contained?” he asked, cocking his head. “That it is so small, so yours alone?” On the last word, he looked past her, eyes focused on another.

Kara’s eyes darted back to Sam, and his words rushed back into her head, _‘You remember the Demetrius. You know what it is when you have something that you have to do.’ _

“Your capability to understand has grown,” the Leoben who wasn’t Leoben said, and his hand found her knee.

“It was an accident,” Kara countered sharply, eyes fiercely opposite his, even as her heart seemed to clench in her chest.

“Maybe his words needed to be heard,” the man said, a slow shrug only adding to the audacity of his words.

“No,” Kara said, clearing her throat, shifting her leg away from his hand. “No, this was not a frakking destiny, not again.”

“Fear blinds you,” said not-Leoben firmly, holding her gaze. “Destiny is not always the end. Maybe the gods will bless him, give him a place among the angels for what he has done.”

“You don’t believe in the gods,” Kara spat at him, but the way death hung around his words made a nameless fear start to rise in her again.

“Not the way you do,” the not-Leoben admitted, but he looked Kara in the eye again. “But I do know that you should not fear this.”

“I don’t fear anything,” Kara said, ignoring how disconcerting the calm in his gaze was, the absence of crazed confidence that separated him from the Leoben she’d known for far longer. “Destiny doesn’t just happen, it’s something you choose.”

To her surprise, he didn’t object. He paused, looking down at her knee. “It is true,” he said. Then, looking back up, meeting her eyes with a clarity that she didn’t know how to read, “But are you going to change yourself to avoid the destiny you will choose just by being yourself? _Can_ you do it?”

Kara stared at him and didn’t have words. Breathing in, the air rushing sharply past her teeth, she closed her eyes for a second. Losing her mind wasn’t just a possibility anymore, it was a reality. It seemed like all that she had done since she’d come back.

When she opened her eyes, there was no one but Sam inside the curtain, and she couldn’t help but feel fear mingling with the devastation that she still didn’t know how to categorize.

*******

Cottle didn’t leave her alone for long, and she didn’t hate him for it as he ordered her to leave, and she was able to lose herself in routine and duty instead of deathbed. Sam wasn’t changing, and at least for the moment it seemed like Kara wasn’t either.

She slept and woke with nightmares lingering behind her eyes, nightmares that spoke of more than simple fears. Her mind was sound enough to shower, dress, give orders, do work, eat food, drink, drink, drink, go to sleep again. Sometime in between all that were hours spent by Sam’s side, trying to come to grips with the fact that he was not waking up, and failing, and not being able to hate herself for failing.

By the time the mutiny was cleaned up, Ellen Tigh had arrived, and suddenly the Cylons remembered Sam as one of their own. As Kara sat, forgotten, she wondered who had found the idea of his Cylonity more incongruous, her or Sam. When approached by a Six and an Eight, she didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t hate them. She didn’t hate the idea of being Cylons. She just didn’t care, and she sure as hell didn’t want to think about it.

“May we keep watch?” asked the Six quietly.

Kara bit back saying that he didn’t need a Cylon guard, of all things, but the situation was different now—he had created them. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought she had, and maybe she didn’t know how to deal with now. “That has to go through Cottle,” she said shortly, clenching and unclenching one fist.

The Six nodded and moved off; the Eight stayed.

“What?” Kara snapped.

“We are all worried,” she started, and Kara’s stomach started to roll with sick frustration. “But I don’t think we’re making correct estimates.”

The lack of collective in that last statement shook Kara for a second, an open second where she said nothing, just looked at the Eight who stepped in a little closer.

“If they perfected the technology that allows their minds to transfer from body to body, as ours used to do,” the Eight said, with a look that didn’t hold pity in it, “then minds must be more powerful than bodies. I think there is hope for Anders yet.” The hopeful look on the Eight’s face faltered as Kara gave her nothing, but she gave a short nod, and walked away at an easy pace.

It was the first comment that was not sympathy or the kind of empty hope that was better called faith. It lingered in Kara’s mind for a while, even if she didn’t know how to take it. In the end, she just walked on, back to the infirmary and back to Sam’s side.

She sat on the nearby stool, looked at the heart and breathing monitor, then to where Sam’s chest rose and fell shallowly on steady cue. The bruises were yellowing on his face, the cuts binding and healing, and with his eyes closed he might have been asleep.

Kara felt heartsick and leaned back, her temple resting against his still-warm arm. “You’re causing a lot of trouble, Sam,” she murmured, just for the sake of talking. “Kind of left us in a lurch, didn’t you? Can’t fade away anymore, not when they all know who you were. And you’re a hero to the Cylons. Thought you’d appreciate the irony of that.”

It was the first time she talked to Sam, but not the last. She’d been so closed before, because she wasn’t ready for the fact that he was still her husband and he might _listen_. Now she just hoped he could.

At first it was just the things she felt she had to say, telling him to get his act together and wake up, because he knew she’d never been that patient and neither was the rest of the world, and she was tired of dealing with it all. All the silly hopeful things that were supposed to make life better. But as he still didn’t answer, she felt disgusted at how she wasn’t addressing what was going on now, just what she wanted to go on.

Then it was like the Demetrius again, when she talked without thinking and words had true meaning for those moments, and yet this time she recognized who he was. She couldn’t not.

“I’m thinking about what Tigh said, about how you only found out you were a Cylon right when I came back,” she said one night, eyes closed. “That meant something, right? Everything’s telling me that I’m a Cylon, except you say I can’t be.” Her hand rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “You all do know how to count, right?”

All those times that she’d kept silent because she didn’t want to hear his response, his understanding, his support—all back to haunt her now as he couldn’t even look straight into her eyes. And she felt backwards.

“I drew weird paintings, you wrote a weird song,” she said another night, blinking a little too fast, tracing the veins on his arm. “Why’d we pretend we were just jocks anyways? I’m not supposed to know about the song, but still, it wasn’t new was it? It didn’t surprise you?”

He just lay still and breathed and another week passed, and Cottle stopped giving her any reports at all.

“This isn’t payback, is it?” she whispered one night, eyes burning, and if she closed them she could remember the odd relief on his face when she’d stepped out of that perfect Viper after only a few hours to find Earth. “You don’t have to make a point, godsdamnit, Sam. I get it now.”

And maybe she did, but if losing Sam was the punishment she deserved for being callous then, she still wasn’t ready to take it.

When Athena asked about her in the showers, she just answered, low and bitter, “It’s all about waiting.” It was what she said to keep people from probing deeper, finding out that she wanted to give up now before it hurt too much.

“Kara, don’t let it eat you up,” Athena warned, stepping in, looking Kara in the eye. “Just ‘cause it looks like the end...”

“Sharon, please,” Kara said tightly, and Athena, dark worry in her eyes anyways, stepped off.

Kara was flying vipers again, being the CAG, living in the fleet. It didn’t feel the same, though, as when she came back to the infirmary, sometimes with a drink in hand. Cottle dared confront her on it once, saying that she wasn’t doing herself any good. She snapped something about his smokes, and he backed off.

And with a little drink in her, somehow she could forget the gritty reality, let the surreality drown her in something almost easy. Too many hospital sounds shook her world, and so she closed her eyes, hummed something that she couldn’t even identify, just sank below the surface into whatever this was.

But two weeks of emptying everything she had to him as he lay unhearing, and it couldn’t be surreal.

“I’ve got nothing left, Sam,” she said flatly, a little tipsy even, chair next to him and head as most always resting on his shoulder. “Things are gone to shit, and we’re just pathetic and broken. Even if they needed us, they couldn’t find us, not really. Maybe if we just keep quiet, they’ll leave us alone until the end. Just us while the universe burns. What happened to survival pacts anyway?”

Her hand stroked his arm, up and down, as she readjusted herself and closed her eyes. “Hope you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it,” she muttered, slipping her arm gently around his. It shouldn’t have been the only comfort she could find. She forced her mind away from all this and towards something, anything, else.

Clearing the sudden lump in her throat, her voice vibrated a little, and she hummed a few notes, let them vibrate through Sam’s arm beneath her head. It made her think of Cylons again, and that mysterious song they didn’t talk about, but that was better than the alternative. More notes came out, slow at first, but she could carry the tune.

It had always been in her head, this melody, these random notes from childhood that were both happy and sad at once. Ever since she came back, they seemed to be stuck in her head, always there even when she couldn’t hear them clearly, like static on a radio. She didn’t pay them any heed, except times like now.

Humming it seemed to ease her mind, and she knew that Sam wouldn’t mind. “None of them along the line,” came the words to her head for the first time, and she wasn’t really singing but her speech-song seemed to help her. “Know what any of it is worth.”

They didn’t really make sense. That was perfect enough.

“No reason to get excited, hmm hm-hm hmm,” she lost the words. Her fingers softly tapped up and down Sam’s arm to the backing rhythm—da-da-da-da, da da, da-da-da-da. Words she couldn’t remember stuck in the back of her throat, guttural notes that yet fit into the melody.

“All along the watchtower, princes kept the view.” She found the words again, her voice steady now. “While all the women—“

Then the steady beeping changed, rapid and loud and frantic. Her voice stopped short as Sam’s heartrate doubled, his EEG monitor an erratic flurry of waves and lights. The moment of clarity was gone, and a fear gripped Kara from deep within.

“Sam?” she whispered, sitting up and looking at his face.

And then it was gone. He hadn’t moved, and his heart and mind seemed to fade back, as if they’d never changed. But they had. Music was too important, and she’d touched it before things were ready. Not sure what else to do, she lay her head back on his arm, stroking softly instead of tapping the rhythm.

She wouldn’t sing around him again.

*******

She shouldn’t have gone near music at all, in the end, when she sat alone at the piano and the Cylons’ conversation whirled above her head and yet didn’t involve her. Hera had written the notes, yes, but Kara hadn’t needed her father’s vision to remember the song. The song. Sam’s song. She hadn’t ever realized, she couldn’t have realized...

It had felt right, now, and it hadn’t with Sam. She didn’t know why when she went to him with the tape that Helo had found for her, she just knew that music could be shared now. Her eyes fell shut, and she slept with her father’s music in one ear, and Sam’s slow heartbeat in the other.

This time the peace lasted just long enough, and she woke without nightmare. Breathing in slowly, Sam’s familiar smell filled her senses and a sudden sharp pain in her chest made the air catch in her throat. Eyes still tightly squeezed shut, she could still only acknowledge that she wanted him back. She hadn’t accomplished anything in trying to let him go, trying to let herself pull away before he was dragged forcibly from her.

And in this moment, sleep still making everything clear, she felt like a coward for even trying. Angry at herself, angry at the universe, she sat up and turned off her father’s music. She was Kara—hell, she was Starbuck. She didn’t just sit and wait without a fight.

Her arsenal wasn’t large for this, but if she had resurrected somehow, seen another life, played the song of the Cylons, and done things that other humans couldn’t understand, then that was what she needed to know about. And even if Sam didn’t have the answers, maybe she didn’t need to know them to use them.

She should be terrified of what all it meant, but it had been around her for far too long for that. The days of demanding answers from Leoben, of standing off alone on a baseship with the Hybrid’s words enough to tear her world to shreds, of burning her dead body with trembling fingers because even she hadn’t wanted to know, were gone. And she’d hardly noticed.

Not waiting any longer, she sat up in the infirmary bed. Heart pounding with a sudden rush of impulse, of choosing to do something once again, she slipped off and found a stool, pulling it close to Sam’s side.

“Okay, Sam,” she said, just above a whisper. “If I’m not a Cylon, then Cylons don’t have the corner on the freaky stuff, and I’m not running from the freaky stuff anymore.” Putting one hand up to his face, she took a deep breath and held his hand in hers. Concentrating on what she couldn’t say, her mind found the one thing that seemed to connect everything.

“There must be some kind of way out of here.” The heart monitor skipped a beat. “Said the joker to the thief.” She could feel the pulse in his hand, along the side of his face, speeding as her notes came out stronger and stronger. “There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no—”

And then she fell.

Darkness grabbed her, hasty and strong, and she gasped for breath and scrambled and opened her eyes and—

Kara Thrace stood barefoot on a beach. A grey clouded afternoon colored the shore, and small waves lapped just beyond her feet. Stunned, out of breath without having moved, she bent to touch the wet, soft, golden-grey sand. She cupped a small handful in her palm, letting it drip out into the wash of an oncoming wave. The water swirled the last trace from her hand, leaving it cool and salty and wet.

The connection was strong, and she was projecting.

Sparing a glance to herself, she recognized the pyramid jacket that Sam had given to her too long ago, and her regulation pants were rolled up at the ankles. Squinting her eyes against the spray of the wind, she looked down the beach. The rush of adrenaline at finally daring something like this couldn’t keep her heart from stopping an instant.

Sam. Sitting on a rock, in the short-sleeved shirt that matched hers. A wooden guitar lay cradled in his arms and his long broad fingers stroked the strings. The wind played with the hair he didn’t have in reality, and instinctively Kara reached up to touch hers. It swung around her face, soft and wispy and just past her chin.

Kara didn’t run down the beach, just walked, not going to push this any further into the unknown. Notes reached her ears as she came closer, the slight twang that had followed her from childhood, that had followed him for who knew how long. This song that twisted the meaning of humanity for them all was holding them here for a moment.

Her last few steps slowed, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Then he seemed to hear the light splashing of her feet in the wet sand, and his eyes glanced up for a brief second.

“It’s you again,” Sam said, an easy tone as he looked back to his guitar.

Kara stopped short. Those weren’t the words she’d been expecting. “Yeah,” she breathed out, brow furrowing.

“That’s not a good sign, is it,” he commented, shifting the chord of his left hand.

Kara swallowed, stepping forward. “Sam?”

He looked up, innocent-looking blue eyes meeting her confused frown. “What?”

“This is you, right?” she asked, straight and serious, putting a hand on his shoulder to confirm that he wasn’t just a twisted figment of her imagination. Maybe her mind truly was lost, more than his.

“I’m here,” he said, with a bit of a smile and a near-shrug. Then suddenly his frown matched hers as if realization dawned on him now, and the guitar dropped to hang by its strap from his shoulder. “Kara?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Sam,” she answered, arms crossing tightly over her chest, unsure and hesitant of what was happening and whether it was a good idea after all.

“It’s not—” he started, realizing something. The guitar was pushed behind his back, and his fingers rose to brush her cheek. “Kara?”

She inhaled sharply at the very real-feeling touch, and couldn’t stand over him like this, not when the moment felt so strange. Kneeling, resting a knee in the wet sand, she tried to rearrange her thoughts in response to the odd surprise of this projection. “Listen, Sam—”

“Kara,” Sam breathed out again, a strange emphasis, eyes wide with surprise as he met hers and his fingers brushed back through her hair.

A stinging pain came behind Kara’s eyes, because this didn’t seem right, but she needed it to be. “This had better be really you, Sam,” she whispered.

“I’m not dead,” he murmured, eyes drifting past her for a second.

“No, just lost,” Kara answered, now recognizing the emotions swirling on his face. The awkward moment was gone; this was Sam she saw. “You remember, right?”

Then he rose to his feet, his hand on her shoulder helping her up. “We don’t have much time,” he said, looking back into her eyes. Then, a sudden grin crossed his face. “Kara, this is projection.”

Seeing his face so alive, so awake, Kara couldn’t help but let out a short bark of a laugh. “That’s right. And Sam, I don’t know exactly why, but I’m hoping that you somehow might have the answer to how I’m doing that.”

“But not here,” Sam said, nodding, looking around worriedly.

“No, I’m here to bring you back,” Kara said, nodding up into his face, and a flood of memories of golden Caprica came back to her. Her confident smile faltered a little. “We can do this together.”

Sam brought a hand up to his face, looking overwhelmed for the moment.

“Sam?” Kara asked, short, needing him to stay with her and not drift before they could leave this illusion for good.

“Yes, we need to get out of here,” he said, putting his hands on her arms as if to feel for sure that she was real. His gaze was straight into her eyes, deeper than she’d been able to handle for weeks now. “There’s so much happening, so much I need to say.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Kara breathed out, nodding. “But not here; not when this place makes you forget just who I am.”

“I didn’t forget,” Sam said, frowning. “I recognized you before, I just—”

“Never mind,” Kara said, urgent again, bringing her hand to rest on his shoulder. She feared that any moment this might fall to pieces. “It can all wait, Sam, really. I don’t know how, but somehow that song of yours was mine too, and I used the connection to get in here.”

“Kara, I’ve tried to get out,” Sam said, looking pained.

“I know, but I have a plan,” Kara said, taking a deep breath and then grinning.

“Like always,” Sam said with a slight cock of his head.

“You trust me, right?” Kara asked, caught up in the exhilaration of being on the verge of making this all worth something.

“To the ends of the earth, baby,” he murmured low, and he felt suddenly close, not too close but almost, closer than he’d been in so many months.

“Good,” she answered after a slight swallow. “I’m getting you out, all right? No goodbyes.”

Sam nodded, closing his eyes. “No goodbyes.”

Reaching for his hand, holding it tight, Kara shut her eyes and breathed in tightly. “Just listen for the music.”

Her breath failed her as the world spun, darkness wrenching her back gasping, and—

Kara Thrace was out, sitting by Sam’s hospital bed, his hand still in hers.

His eyes were closed, his head marked with faint bruises, his body still. But his heart beat, and she could see the breadcrumb trail of his mind on that brain monitor. She gripped his hand tighter—now or never. It was just crazy enough to work for her.

The melody trickled to her mind as she felt for the connection, note by note, and her voice didn’t falter as she started to hum. Strange how she could remember how it all fit now. From the first verse to the chorus, and she was just about to reach for words.

A massive burst of light leapt to life on the monitors, and even though she expected it her voice almost faltered. Sam’s eyes snapped open before the first word could pass her lips.

It was all real. The glare of the lights, the twisted cords and electrodes, the crumpled blankets, the damages of life on her face and on his. And their souls were back to reality.

“Found you,” he said through dry lips.

A lump rising in her throat for a moment, Kara realized that she’d brought him back, she’d kept her word again. Her smile was tight with overwhelming emotion, hand squeezing his, but it was real and she knew his eyes could see it. “Ready to get back into life?”

He didn’t need to say yes.


	2. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 2

**Chapter 2** \- _Glorious in awakening, struggling with the knowledge_

It was hard to know what to say, then, sitting by Sam’s side and having him looking at her again. Kara just tried to breathe slowly as Sam closed his eyes, feeling himself solidly in his body again, both of them shaken by what had gone before as much as what had just happened. The moment of confusion lasted just long enough for Cottle to shuffle quickly over, responding to the changing monitors.

He coughed, shock on his face. “How did...?”

“You don’t want to know yet, Doc,” Kara said, success sending a grin to her face, and in that moment it didn’t matter at all that what she’d done was utterly beyond humanity.

Cottle’s penlight was out at once, flicking at Sam’s eye, and he was checking all the vitals.

“I think I’m good,” Sam said, breath slow and steady.

“Hush,” Cottle grunted. “No one’s good until I clear them.”

“Doc, after the third time, I think I know how to rescue him without causing any damage,” Kara offered, adrenaline partly responsible for the giddy smile on her face. She met Sam’s eyes, and she could have sworn they were dancing, tired as they were.

The infirmary was quiet this late in the night, but as Kara glanced around and then back at Sam, it felt like her world was spreading wide and open again. Sam was back.

“Now, what do you remember?” Cottle asked finally, stepping back a step and looking Sam in the face.

“I, uh—” Sam started, a little off guard, tightening and loosening his fingers to test their movement. “I remember everything,” he breathed.

Kara had forgotten.

“I remember everything,” Sam said again, a light coming to his eyes. His eyes shifted swiftly from Cottle to Kara. “I need to brief them, all of them.” He started to shift from his bed.

“Hey,” Kara said, her hand reaching out to push his arm back at the same time Cottle did.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cottle said in a grumbling tone. “Look, you may think you’re young and immortal, but let’s just give this a few hours at least.”

“Not so young, actually,” Sam said, one eyebrow rising.

Kara almost laughed, but didn’t—her heart twisted at all that this meant now. “There will be plenty of time to talk this time,” she said gravely. “And Sam—Ellen resurrected. She’s alive, and she’s with us.”

“Ellen’s alive?” Sam asked, relief and surprise and joy suddenly crossing his face.

Kara just nodded. She swallowed, stroking his arm shortly. After everything, Sam wasn’t the only one who needed time. “I’ll go get them, Sam, you just sit tight.”

He reached for her hand when she stood up. “Hey, Kara—”

She looked down, and despite the extra something in his eyes, she knew the person and the sentiment behind them. “Thanks for saving my ass again,” he said in a low voice, nodding to her.

“Always, Sam,” she answered, a wry twist of her lips accompanying. He squeezed her hand and let it go, and she turned and walked out, rubbing the bridge of her nose and breathing in deeply.

It was late night and no one would be awake, so she took a moment to gather herself. Only a week ago, she might have found Helo, spilled her worried thoughts to him so he could reflect them back in a way that looked much more organized. But Helo’s mind had been shredded by Boomer, and so she couldn’t do that.

She just stood out in the hall for a second, breathing deeply. It was all back to the beginning, the beginning of life after finding Earth. She didn’t know who she was, she didn’t know who he was, and all she knew about them was that she hadn’t been ready to pull apart completely. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling tired again, and her other hand found her pocket.

Inside was the tiny picture she’d been preparing. Pulling it out, she saw Sam’s broad grin, and her own head over his shoulder, smirking into the camera as she draped herself over his back on a New Caprican bench. And she realized that she didn’t know those people. Happy humans on a happy human world, not perfect but with understandable problems.

Slipping the photo back into her pocket, yet vowing to herself that it would be for good, she went to find the Tighs’ quarters. The past really was gone, and the old them might as well have died. But she had Sam back—that meant something. She had a feeling that it would mean more soon.

*******

Saul Tigh had a crick in his neck from falling asleep with his back against the wall, Ellen draped over his lap where she had dozed off, worry lines deep on her face. He still didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to care about the Cylon race, all he needed to know was that a child was captured. Didn’t matter who, it made his stomach turn in boiling anger.

Nothing to do, though, they had fallen asleep as they worried. One thing Saul definitely believed about the whole damn situation, and that was his age, because he could feel that in every bone.

A rap on the door startled him awake, and Ellen jerked upright. “Saul?”

“Just a minute,” he snapped automatically, shaking his head loose of sleep cobwebs. Groaning as Ellen rolled off him, he stumbled out of the bed and over to the door. “What is it?” he asked with slight frustration, as he spun the hatch open.

“Anders is awake,” Kara said, before he recognized her.

“Hmm?” Saul blinked his remaining eye, too tired.

“Anders, Colonel,” she said, a look of concentration on her face as she looked at him. “He’s awake, and he remembers.”

“Sam?” breathed out Ellen behind Saul, coming forward. “Our boy?”

Kara nodded, brow wrinkled for some reason that Saul couldn’t determine.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Ellen said, turning quickly, going for clothes.

There was a pause as Saul tried to wake up a little more fully, still standing at the door.

“Colonel, can I have a word?” Kara asked suddenly, giving him a direct look.

He swallowed. “Yes,” he said, stepping out the door a couple steps.

She crossed her arms over her chest, breathing out slowly. “This is going to sound really strange, but I think I need your advice.”

It did sound strange. “I’m awake, right?” he asked dryly.

“You’d better be,” she answered right back, with a piercing glance, and a following sigh.

“What is it?” he asked, wondering if something was wrong that she hadn’t said.

“You don’t remember what happened, right, before you thought you were human?” she asked.

Saul shook his head. “Not more than flashes.”

“Is it hard to live with Ellen like that?” Kara asked, eye meeting his. “Or do you get used to it?”

“Look, Kara, you are coming to the wrong man to talk about adapting,” Saul said in a low tone, rubbing at his tired eye.

“Well, you’ll hear all of it eventually, but there’s a lot of weird stuff going on,” Kara said, slowly shaking her head. “And I know I can’t get away from it, but I don’t know how to just live with it either.”

“Does it make sense yet?” Saul asked, arms loosely crossed over his chest, watching her closely.

“Frak no,” she admitted, breathing out.

“That’s it, then,” Saul said bluntly.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Kara said, as she glanced over his shoulder.

Ellen was dressed and ready to go. Saul grabbed his jacket as Kara walked off, and as he and Ellen walked toward the infirmary, he wondered for a moment if there was another way to get back your memories other than a bullet in the head.

*******

It took a while for Tory and Sonja to get over from the baseship along with a representative Two and Eight, and by then Adama and Roslin and Lee had joined Saul and Ellen around Sam’s bed. Kara had taken a moment in the head to wash her face, get a little coherence on her story. She barely believed it even when she joined them all, sitting next to Sam and resting her hand on his.

“I’m just going to ask the obvious question,” Saul opened, as Tory and the other Cylons finally entered the room. “Last thing you said—stay in the fleet. We did, but what the hell was that all about?”

Sam sat a little straighter, bringing up his free hand to gesture as he spoke. “I remembered what we’d talked about, before this war. About the cycles. About everything happening before and again. You remember, Ellen, right?”

Ellen nodded.

“I realized that the main theme was disconnection,” Sam said, glancing between Adama and Ellen. “Two races living separately inevitably ended in war. Kobol, Earth, the Colonies, and even the civil war among us. We have to live together, live as one people.”

“That didn’t work so well for everyone,” Adama commented in a dark tone.

“The mutiny, yes,” Sam said. “I could hardly forget that.”

Kara gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Well, as much as it’s a good idea, there was still a genocide,” Lee offered, one arm crossed, his chin resting on the hand of the other.

Sam nodded, breathing out. “I remembered that too. But what none of us knew until recently was what Cavil’s role was. Inciting, brainwashing even. The other six models would never have hurt the humans without his influence, I know.” He nodded to Sonja, the Eight, and the Two standing nearby.

“I don’t mean to be hardnosed, but how can you prove that?” Lee asked. “I’m sorry, but we have to pose the question.”

“Yes, yes, you do,” Sam said. He looked down for a second. “And the only evidence we have is design. Ellen and I can explain, we were trying to create human personalities. We succeeded, I think it’s plain. Treating the Cylons like another branch of humanity doesn’t erase anything, it just makes the playing field level enough for true forgiveness and justice.”

“Forgiveness,” Adama said, frowning.

“I’m not—we don’t have to go that far yet,” Sam offered, pausing, brow narrowing a little, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Aren’t we starting off in the middle?” asked Tory then, arms tightly crossed over her chest. “You were in a coma, Sam; what happened?”

The scene fell back to reality, leaving behind hypotheticals for the moment. Sam nodded, swallowing. “Kara got me out.”

The Tighs were the only ones who knew; all other eyes darted to where Kara sat silently. Her jaw tensed a little, ready for the questions, but they weren’t coming yet.

“It was the song,” Sam continued.

“The song?” Tory asked, taking a step forward and looking more interested.

Sam nodded. “Did Ellen ever tell you about that?”

Ellen shook her head. “I never knew what it was, Sam, you know that.”

Sam looked to her. “You did know, but maybe you didn’t understand. It’s part of the cycles, the warning of the next disaster, or at the very least a change. It came with the heralds the first time.”

Kara started a little, but no one seemed to see. Had he used that word lightly?

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Saul asked, looking at Ellen.

“I didn’t know,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “I wasn’t a part of this, it was Sam and Tory and Galen.”

“We saw them, the heralds of apocalypse,” Sam said nodding. “Galen designed the Sixes after the one he saw, Tory, you designed the Twos after yours. But they came with the song, it was their song.”

Kara’s heart twisted into a knot, and she just tried to sit still and breathe and listen. What Saul had implied before, about needing understanding to accept—she wasn’t sure it was working the way he’d assumed.

“So when we knew what we were again, it was a warning?” Tory asked, worried.

“For the death of resurrection, for Earth, for the mutiny,” Sam said. He shrugged a little. “I think. It was never clear even back on Earth. We weren’t supposed to understand, maybe. But it’s always foreboding, I’m sure.”

“Let me get this straight, then,” Roslin said, finally speaking up. “You were warned by the Lords of Kobol through a song before Earth was destroyed, and it woke you up again in the fleet, and it was just heard again as Hera was stolen?”

“Hera was stolen?” Sam's face fell, body stiffening.

Ellen nodded, face pained. “Boomer took her to Cavil, right as Kara was playing the song that Hera gave her, and Galen helped her escape. It’s why he’s not here. But it was the song, Sam.”

“You played the song before you woke me,” Sam asked, surprised as he looked at Kara.

She nodded without saying anything. Her mind kept saying the words ‘herald’ and ‘apocalypse’ over and over again, and yet she couldn’t say them out loud, not here, not with all these people who didn’t even know that there had once been more than one of her.

“What do you think it means, this time?” Roslin asked.

“It means that if we can’t get Hera back, there will be another end of everything,” the representative Eight said, slightly horrified.

Sam’s mouth was tight, but he nodded. “That something terrible will happen if we can’t get her back, at the very least.”

“But she’s just one child,” Tory offered, disbelieving.

“She’s a symbol, Tory, you know what that means,” Sam said, looking closely at her. “It doesn’t matter what she is, only what she represents. She’s the proof that our two races might as well be one. If there are more like her, then we will no longer be separate, and that is the only thing that can break the cycle.”

“You don’t know any of this,” Tory said, the hint of a scoff in her voice.

“Hasn’t that been the story of this whole journey?” Lee said sardonically.

Sam glanced at him. “You could say that.”

“So at this point, our highest priority should be the rescue of Hera?” Sonja asked, looking thoughtful.

Sam nodded swiftly, relaxing back a little into the hospital bed as he seemed to find a plan. “We need time, but if Hera has been taken, she doesn’t have that. We get her back, then we can settle everything else. And there’s a lot to settle, I know.”

“Cavil’s taken Hera to the Colony, Sam,” Ellen said. “We don’t know where he’s taken it, though.”

Kara saw Sam glance at Adama, whose face was more deeply lined than usual. “Admiral,” he said after a second of silence.

“Mr. Anders,” Adama answered, looking at him.

“Are you going to support this?” Sam’s face didn’t have expectation on it; Kara had seen that face before, the look of a leader on one side to another.

“I’m not making any decision before I’m given any evidence that this goal can be achieved,” Adama said, a little slow, but firm.

Sam nodded and cleared his throat. “I didn’t ask earlier, but someone said Hera gave Kara the song?”

“She wrote the notes for me,” Kara said quietly, her voice cracking just slightly.

“Then we’re all connected by it,” Sam said. “Maybe it will lead us to her.”

“It’s a start,” Ellen acknowledged.

“Have any of you heard it since the nebula?” Sam asked, glancing around.

“Just Kara and Hera,” Ellen said.

Kara met Sam’s eyes for a brief second, then she looked to the rest. Swallowing her own confusion and worry, she spoke shortly. “We’ll figure it out.”

They were all giving her looks; some, from the cylons, curious, and some, from the humans, concerned. She withdrew her gaze, looking down at her hand and biting the inside of her lip. Sam made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t. And he’d left out so much.

They all departed one by one, and before anything else could happen, Cottle came back.

“I need to be released,” Sam said, almost fidgeting.

“Wait one godsdamned minute,” Cottle grumped, but without much heat to it.

Sam closed his eyes as Cottle asked a few questions, did a few measurements, scrawling notes on his clipboard while Kara gathered all of her questions. It was past late night into early morning, and she was tired, but not tired enough yet.

“Kara,” Cottle’s voice came to her ears, his usual tone.

She looked up from where she’d been rubbing at her nose, frowning.

“Everything’s steady; I can clear his release, as soon as a situation is made ready,” Cottle informed her, putting the pen back in his pocket and tucking the clipboard under one arm. He added warningly, “None of those viper bunks, though. He still needs a lot of rest, quality rest.”

And then he just walked off again, and Kara was standing by Sam’s bed. She almost opened her mouth when his eyes met hers, keen and worried.

“Kara,” he said, breathing out slowly, “I know this will sound strange, but I’ve seen too many enemy hospitals in the past few years. I can’t stay here.”

She blinked, never having once connected the Cylon farms with Galactica, but then, she’d seen Galactica’s infirmary far more often. Nodding to Sam, she stepped forward, pushing the questions out of the way. “Okay, come on. I’ll get you set up in Chief’s quarters.”

Sam put a hand on her arm as he got out of the bed. “What happened with Galen and Boomer?”

Kara jerked her head a little. “You don’t want to know, not now.”

Sam nodded, eyes pinching shut for a second as he took a step forward, almost pained. “I can’t believe I lived without all this; my mind feels full again, almost too full. I don’t know if I can take it right now.”

Kara, her hand solidly at his back in case Cottle was wrong, thought that she knew the feeling all too well and it wasn’t comfortable at all. Then again, given the hints she’d heard today, knowing exactly what had happened to her might not help.

The strangeness of the situation drove all such concerns from her mind, as she walked with Sam down Galactica’s quarters, bringing him to the quarters that had been the Tyrols. Now they were empty of all life, and Chief obviously hadn’t been spending much time in them before all this either, given the sparse clutter.

Sam didn’t say anything after Kara closed the door, and he moved towards the bed without even a pause. In hospital jacket and pants still, he lay down on the mattress, breathing out once and letting his eyes rest.

Kara chewed at the inside of her lip for a moment. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he said wearily, without opening his eyes. “There’s too much confusion here.”

Kara had almost turned to leave, but the words held her for a moment, just long enough to realize that she didn’t know where she was going. She couldn’t sleep with the other pilots tonight, not when her whole perception was still thrown off from the events of tonight. Like she’d done many nights before, she just turned down the lights and found that the nearest place to rest was by Sam.

Curling up in the armchair, drawing her knees to her chest, she slipped into sleep and tried to will herself not to dream.

*******

Sam woke for the first time in years. A long, slow, deep breath filled his lungs as he stared up at the ceiling above him. He could feel the extra strength in his muscles, all his knowledge at hand and no longer blocked.

It hit him, then, that he didn’t understand anything. He had felt so confident with what little knowledge he’d grasped, but with it all at hand, he was lost and confused again. Worst of all, he was back to not knowing who he was. What he was, that was clear. But who? Did the last years even count as much as he felt they should, with so much of his mind quartered off from himself?

His ears caught the sound of breathing other than his in the room. He turned his head, and even in the low light saw Kara asleep on the chair. His heart leapt in his chest for a dozen different reasons.

Telling himself that he needed to keep it together, needed to find himself quickly, before everything was hopeless—repeating the mantra to himself, he slowly rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. He was alive for the first time in so many years.

Sam barely found fresh clothes in Galen’s quarters before his mantra failed, and the urgency of hours before came pounding back. The Cylons—his Cylons. Hera. Cavil. Kara.

Always too quick to nervousness, he clenched his fingers, closing his eyes and breathing for a second. There was time. There had to be time for them. But as soon as he was dressed, he knew they couldn’t waste it.

Standing for a moment above where Kara still slept in the chair, he had a moment of doubt. It was easy to remember the newly-remembered familiarity in her face, and forget the first, forget the only one that she remembered. The one where she was his estranged wife. So much was trying to overwhelm that pain, so many dozens of years of everything else—but his heart was still on default, and it broke to think of losing Kara. Even with all his past flooding his mind, at the moment, he just wanted to scoop her into his arms and savor this moment of relief.

He couldn’t, though. Even sleeping, pain and confusion marked her face, and that had to come first.

“Kara,” he said softly, touching her arm.

She jerked to waking, eyes darting to his. Recognition prompted her to exhale, but she didn’t calm down. “What is it?” she asked.

“We need to talk,” he said, and smiled a little at her. He’d said the words before, but never had they been such an understatement.

*******

Kara didn’t know what she was doing as she went with Sam to the mess hall, grabbing food and drink, sitting at a table, looking at each other without speaking for a little.

“Sam, about yesterday,” she started, jumping straight in.

“Wait, Kara, before that—” he answered, interrupting. She paused, brow furrowed as it had been since she’d woken. His eyes found hers hesitantly. “The last time I was awake, you asked me if I knew who you were.”

She paused, fork hovering above her breakfast. It was the same question she was going to ask. “Do you?”

He nodded. “I think so. Kara, you were on Earth.”

“And my body, you know what it means?” she asked, and somehow that came out easier than it should have.

Sam paused then. “What?”

“You know what it meant, my crashed Viper on Earth?” she asked for clarification.

“No, wait, what do you mean?” Sam asked, leaning a little forward across the small table. Curiosity and confusion had come back into his face, and she realized that he didn’t look himself like that; she’d forgotten that solidity had once been the norm.

“You don’t know,” she said, stomach clenching, and she set her fork down. “I found a Viper on Earth, the same number as the one sitting in Galactica’s hangar bay right now. And I found my own corpse, with my own dogtags. A duplicate.”

Sam breathed in sharply, sitting back up straight. “No, Kara, I don’t know about that. I meant Earth before it fell, back when we were scientists. You were there.”

“Frak, Sam, that’s impossible,” Kara said, trying to catch herself from this already-circling conversation.

“It would be if you’re human,” Sam said, and his eyes held hers.

Kara’s jaw tightened, but she cleared her throat and said, “All right, so we both know that’s not the case.”

“You were...” Sam started, slowly, quietly. “If I remember this right, you were the one who came to me and warned me about Earth’s apocalypse.”

Last night was vivid in her mind, and even though it wasn’t a surprise, it still seemed to wrack Kara’s mind. “I was the harbinger of death.”

“To me, yes,” Sam said, as if not seeing her exact reaction for a second. “I mentioned the others, the ones that Tory and Galen saw.”

Kara gave a short laugh. “So she was right,” she said to herself. Sam’s look of bewilderment almost helped, though. “The Hybrid,” she continued. “She told me that I was the herald of the apocalypse, the harbinger of death. I thought it meant I was going to do something terrible, I didn’t realize that it was what I’d already done.”

“After the Demetrius, then,” Sam said, realization on his face.

“Yeah,” Kara breathed out. She pushed her plate away, too sick to eat, not enough to get up and leave. “Frak, Sam, I need more than just those words. What do you remember?”

He leaned back forward a little, resting his hands on the table, fingers drumming a beat. “You said that you were a messenger, an angel. You were there to warn us of the coming disaster, to prepare for it, to stop the cycle. We had to finish resurrection if there was anything good to come out of it. You stayed with me for months while we worked, but no one else could see you. I asked questions, so many questions, but you didn’t give me many answers.”

Kara laughed again, tight and a little bitter, and she should have been shocked and in denial but something in his words was connecting to her. “Well, that’s evidence that there was more relation than just similar looks,” she said with a cock of her head. Panic seemed to be absent still, so maybe Saul had been right about understanding.

Sam had a wistful smile on his face when he looked back up at her. “It does explain why I never found your reserve so odd. I’d had a kind of practice with it, even if I didn’t remember.”

Kara didn’t pull her eyes away from his, trying to let it all sink in. “I was...I might have been something that wasn’t human or Cylon. Apparently something that can’t die, not for good at least.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

“Hey,” Sam said, reaching across, putting a hand over hers. He smiled again, a little crooked, but sincere. “Look, we don’t even know what it means to be human.”

Kara choked on another laugh. “Where did that come from?”

Sam blinked. “I, uh, I remember having a degree in philosophy back on Earth,” he explained, almost sheepish. He swallowed. “This feels strange.”

“At least you have the memories,” Kara said, rubbing at her eyes. Somehow she’d expected this to hurt more, for Sam to reveal that she was nothing, or a demon, or some devilish creature of chaos. The Hybrid had been right, and so had Leoben, at least a little. Sam remembered her being an angel. What the frak that meant, she still didn’t know. It didn’t sound so bad, though, not when her whole world was topsy turvy.

Sam was looking past her, around the eating area.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s so empty,” he murmured, a dark pain beneath the words. “There’s so few left. And I remember not only the twelve colonies but Earth as well, so many billions of people wiped out. And what are we doing here, Kara?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, tension gripping her heart again.

He closed his eyes for a second. “Cavil started most of this, and he’s making a big gambit by taking Hera. We need to come up with a final move quickly.”

Kara saw the determination and stubbornness in his eyes again, and it was a rush of familiarity. She nodded shortly, standing up, shaking off all the questions of identity for now. She knew enough; her world was barely holding together, so that going any farther would tear it to shreds. “So that song, that you wrote?”

“I didn’t invent it,” he said, standing up along with her.

“Well, whatever did, it seems to have been a one time wonder,” Kara said, standing with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. “So we need to figure out the connection between everything, and get a frakking start with this final move that we have to make.”

“I don’t have an argument against that,” Sam said, an eyebrow raised.

“I’ll get star charts then, and we’ll work this out,” Kara said. “All this extra memory has got to have some clue in it.”

Sam didn’t say anything, but he followed her, and things were moving again. If Kara had lost her road before, she could count this as getting back on track. She wasn’t sure where she was on the track, but she knew that she was some where. It was a morbid satisfaction, but Kara was starting to appreciate those after the past months.


	3. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 3

**Chapter 3** \- _The pain of revelation bringing new clarity_

Tory drank alone on the baseship, quartered off where there was nothing to distract her. Humans, cylons, her old “comrades” the Five—she couldn’t stand their presence. She wasn’t even disillusioned; she hadn’t liked her life as a human, not particularly, and yet everything that Sam or Ellen said made it worse. Not because she didn’t want her Earth life back, but because it was the only thing she wanted and she couldn’t even remember why for herself.

Drinking was such a human thing to do, but her mind was too sharp to face the world. It had just been a project, to recreate resurrection. She understood that part. But no one had told her why she wanted to create the Cylons, and looking at them now, having to hear what they said, it made even less sense.

The only thing that was tying her to them still was the love they showed her. Unfounded love, blind love, but love still. She actively hated herself for desiring it, but she would gather as much as she could anyways.

Just not now. At least alone, there was no reason to hate anything. Alone, her world was free of obligation and blame both. On the cold black bench, she leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees.

“Tory.”

She turned around sharply, saw Sam at the door to the room, hands twiddling in front of him as he leaned against the frame.

“Shouldn’t you be figuring out your magic song?” she asked, not even hiding the bitterness and disdain.

“I couldn’t do it, couldn’t concentrate,” Sam said, worry on his face. He breathed out, took a few steps forward. “I’m not a machine, I can’t just work under any circumstances.”

Tory gave a scoffing laugh. “So you and Ellen agree on that point, at least. Funny how it doesn’t seem true. What’s your problem, then, or at least the problem you think you have?”

“Galen won’t talk to me,” Sam said, coming closer, gesturing with a hand. His face looked pained.

“That surprises you, given his life?” she answered, scorchingly bitter.

“Look, you think it’s easy, all of this?” Sam asked, sitting next to her. “It’s not, Tory. I remember what it was like not to know anything, to be at the mercy of other people telling you what you were. But it’s worse to know again—to know what you’ve done.”

Tory wanted to snap at him, say that she knew about heavy things that weighed on the heart, ones that you weren’t sure if you should regret. But she bit her tongue, twisting it in her mouth, finally drowning out the words with another sip of ambrosia. “So you’re here to regret what you’ve done? What have you possibly done, Anders?”

“I betrayed you,” he said darkly, leaning forward like she was. “I betrayed Galen. Maybe objectively there was nothing wrong then, but now...”

Tory couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that he was really bringing that up. “Our brains were wiped, Anders,” she said bluntly. “If I was ever in love with Galen, it didn’t count after that. Are you really that hung up over something so—” she broke off, not sure how she wanted to finish it.

“Don’t say it hasn’t hurt you, because I know that’s a lie,” Sam said, turning his face quickly towards her. “We knew what we were doing at the start, but after we found out what we were—I know you tried to talk to me, and I know I pushed you away.”

“According to all the stories, it’s Galen that should be feeling guilty, not you,” Tory said, putting her drink down.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t remember yet,” Sam said, exhaling slowly. “And I’ll pity him if he ever does, knowing what the past years have been for him. But I remember, Tory. I remember that we were at least friends, once. And that got twisted this time around, and I could at least have seen you. I failed with that.”

“You’re seriously apologizing for this?” Tory asked, staring at him. This was exactly why she kept running from Ellen, this weirdness, so sincerely meant.

“I know you’ve heard this all from Ellen,” Sam said as if reading her thoughts, serious eyes meeting hers, “but we were the only five survivors of our whole race. You were closer than just a colleague to me, Tory. And I can’t just not apologize for failing—for failing family. That’s all I’ve been doing over the past years, I see now, and even though I didn’t know I was doing it, I could have figured it out a lot sooner.”

Tory swallowed twice, but the bitter taste wouldn’t go away. “Always soft, weren’t you,” she said flatly. “Fine. It’s not like this means anything since I still don’t remember, but god, you apparently need to hear this—you’re forgiven.”

“For something you don’t remember,” Sam said, a sudden painful humor in his tone.

“Hey, it was your stupid idea, not mine,” Tory said, an eyebrow raised. He was at least a degree more sensitive than Ellen, unsurprisingly.

“What do you want, Tory?” he asked then, looking closely at her.

Tory met his eyes, surprised. “I—I don’t know.” She knew what she didn’t want, and that was everything that she _should_ want—unity, peace, fixing a mess she couldn’t remember starting. Without her memories, she couldn’t just make herself want all that. “What does it matter?”

“Well, what did you want before all this?” Sam asked, shrugging.

“When I was living a lie?” Tory’s eyes opened skeptically wider.

“It wasn’t all a lie,” Sam said slowly.

_Keep telling yourself that_, Tory said to herself. “I just wanted things to go smoothly. For them to work. In my life especially, but if I had to deal with the rest of the world...”

“See, that wasn’t a lie,” Sam said, offering her a small smile.

“I didn’t want to be an outcast, either,” she said. “I was hoping that the people who accepted me would be a bit more rational, though.”

“The Cylons freak you out?” Sam asked.

Tory’s soft chuckle was less bitter, more relieved. “I don’t know if freakout is the right term...”

“Semantics, doesn’t really matter,” Sam said, a quirk of his lips. He reached up a hand, rested it on her shoulder. “I can’t promise to be quite as rational as you want me to be, but I am trying to figure out how this all works, I’m not just accepting it as magic. If that’s still what you want, there’s always a place for you.”

“There’s a reason I’m an outcast, Sam,” Tory said, a little bitter and dry again. “I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Knowledge isn’t everything, Tory,” Sam said, shrugging a little. “I remember the way your mind works, and I have a feeling we could use someone to input a little unadulterated common sense.”

“Look, you apologized, I accepted it,” Tory said slowly, nodding towards him. “Thank you for the offer, but I can figure things out on my own.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Sam said, a distant little smile on his face.

Tory wanted to demand what he meant, then, and beg for answers and be greedy for every last drop of memory he could give her, even if it was secondhand. But she had a feeling that Sam had always seen more good than was actually there, and that it wouldn’t help her as much as it would if he had been in her place. So she held her tongue.

He patted her shoulder one last time as he rose and left. Tory sat, alone again, even though this time it was less of a retaliatory choice.

And yet her bitterness came back, and she really did regret Cally’s death now. She couldn’t ask Sam to explain, not when deep inside she knew how much he would despise her if he knew. He wouldn’t understand her choice. None of them would. It was why she had to accept the blind love of the ignorant Cylons, rather than the disillusioned caring that the Five offered.

Resolutely, she picked up her glass and threw back her head, letting the liquid dash down her throat.

*******

“What’s on our agenda for today?” Sonja asked as she stepped into Lee’s quarters.

Lee glanced up from the paper he’d been staring at for an hour, and yet still couldn’t say what it was about. “Uh, same as always? Roslin’s talking with my father and Ellen, I think, I’m not sure about what exactly. So we’re just holding it all together. Is there something specific?” Sonja was by far the most involved member of the quorum, but even she didn’t just spend time with him for no reason.

“It’s about the Eight,” Sonja said, taking a seat across from him. “She wants to be called Anna for the hearing, but I think she should be worried about a hearing happening at all.”

“The Eight,” Lee said, wracking his brain. Then, guilty realization hit. “The one that Chief used to help Boomer escape.”

“She was assaulted,” Sonja said, giving him an acute look. “I know that there’s been a lot more on our minds regarding our two races, but little things like this are important.”

Lee nodded, a furrow coming to his brow. “I know. We have to keep things going. Who knows when or even if there will be answers to the big questions.”

Sonja breathed out, sitting back in the chair. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. I know I should be concerned about the song like everyone else, but I take my position seriously.”

“So do I,” Lee said, nodding and smiling. “So, the true president and most of our important people are concerned with the survival of the human race. Let’s get working on the little things, shall we?”

“Not so little, given what they led to only recently,” Sonja said with a tip of her head.

“Mm,” Lee said, eyebrows rising for a second. At least someone understood what the mutiny meant, more than just the fact that some of the fleet still hated the Cylons.

*******

Sam sat in Galen’s old quarters, papers and pencils and compasses and pictures and charts all before him. Just no answers.

“Break didn’t help?” Kara guessed, leaning her head on her hand.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I felt like there were things I had to apologize for, but I don’t think that’s the only thing. Yesterday things were so clear, but now—it’s like some feeling is blocking it all, making it foggy.” He waved his hand vaguely, then shook his head.

“That’s not good,” Kara sighed.

Sam chuckled emotionlessly, knowing what she meant. “Like Demetrius. I didn’t lose those memories just because I got back my old ones, you know.”

Kara gave him an eye, but he wasn’t sure why. “Least it probably means there’s something important going on and we aren’t crazy...” she murmured, looking back at the notes.

“You don’t need to talk about anything, do you?” Sam asked curiously.

“Like what?” Kara answered dubiously.

“Like, the fact that we can say we’re not crazy all we want, but crazy things happened around us,” Sam said, feeling the twisting emotion that had sat in the back of his mind all day start to untwist. “I almost died—you brought me back. But before that, Dee killed herself for all of this, and that just feels wrong. Then Gaeta, who I know wasn’t your favorite, but I liked him. I wake up now and he’s dead. And Margaret, and—and Seelix. Everything’s screwed up, Kara,” he finished with a weary bluntness.

“Yeah, well, that’s what we’re here for, to try and fix it,” Kara said, not quite looking up at him. Then she paused. “You don’t feel guilty about Seelix, do you?”

Sam shook his head, tapping his pencil on the table. “I don’t know. I went to see her on the Astral Queen. I thought if she knew, she wouldn’t be so frustrated. It wasn’t the Cylons as a whole, it was individuals. No one’s trying to say that the genocide was all right, just that we have to judge everyone on their own merits, not what they as a whole did.”

“Yeah, that didn’t go over well,” Kara said dryly. She looked up at him. “I was Diana’s flight instructor for a few weeks, I know her.”

“Oddly enough, things went better with Tory,” Sam said, turning back to his notes.

“Tory’s got a problem reconciling her anti-Cylon tendencies?”

Sam glanced up at her flat tone. He smiled a little. It was hard to believe, but he’d missed her light mocking, even if like everything it was a little weary with her nowadays. “No, that time I did feel guilty. When you were gone—”

“You slept with her?” Kara guessed, surprise on her face as she looked up.

“We both needed someone,” Sam said, nodding. “Then when you came back, and I found out I was a Cylon, I kind of lost everything.”

“Makes two of us,” she said with a slight tip of her head.

“Well, I kind of ignored that she only had a few people, and finding out she was a Cylon limited that further. I felt wrong for ignoring her, especially remembering how close we all were.”

“So when you couldn’t focus today, you went to indulge in guilt?” Kara asked him with a pointed look.

“Confession’s good for the soul,” he said with a quirk of dry humor.

She blinked. “Yeah, maybe,” she said, in that low tone that meant she didn’t want to admit how much she agreed.

He’d indulged enough guilt for the day, though. After dealing with what he could, the urgency of everything was filling his mind again. It was clear enough to focus, and so that’s what he had to do.

*******

Ellen stood at the hall of death, and her heart ached for her John. But not as much as it ached for all these people that he had killed. Roslin and Bill kept hinting at reservations about the whole Cylon alliance, and she didn’t know how many times she could tell them that the circumstances were a little closer to white than the dark grey that those two still clung to.

So few of her children had actually been responsible, but even those who’d lifted a hand—had the humans not even spoken to Caprica? Ellen couldn’t, not now, but Sonja had told her of Caprica’s revulsion at being duped into wittingly aiding everything. It didn’t make it right, but it didn’t make her flaws unhuman either. So much of what the humans had done had been forgiven for the sake of the survival of the race, surely asking for individual instead of holistic judgment for her race wasn’t unreasonable.

Ellen had a feeling of triumph now that Sam was involved. Not just because he had a face and voice they were more likely to believe, but because it seemed like he had Kara Thrace on his side. And even if she also was something more than human, that didn’t make her human characteristics go away. Like stubbornness, and loyalty to anyone she thought worthy. She’d thought some Cylons worthy before; Ellen trusted that she would be with Sam if he supported more of them now.

The poor boy had never wanted to be part of this in the beginning, and now here he was inescapably in the center of it. Still, he was picking things up quickly, as he always had. Ellen knew she could trust him.

*******

Kara had vowed that she’d figure this out if it killed her. After 45 different analyses of this idiotic song, her will to keep that vow seemed likely to be put to the test.

“It’s poetry, Sam, it’s metaphorical,” she said, leaning off the low couch towards the coffee table they’d brought in to scratch out her scribbled theory for the nth time. If she looked off to the right, her previously scribbled and crumpled papers seemed to have eyes that looked to her for the answer. If only they were allowed to light fires.

“Poetry isn’t just nebulous, and neither is music,” Sam insisted, waving his hand at her, also for the nth time. “There are hard mathematical principles behind them.”

“But it’s all unconscious,” Kara insisted. “It’s why we appreciate it, not why we create it.”

“You’re saying that Kataris didn’t understand all the details of his art?” Sam said, looking at her from under skeptic brows.

“After a run-in with some of his lesser work and a murder plot, I don’t have much respect for the man,” Kara retorted. “And for that matter, what about Nomian?”

“Nom-i-an,” Sam corrected her pronunciation.

“Whatever,” Kara said, brushing it off, moving on to the frustrating point. “He said that music symbolized emotion.”

“It’s also math,” Sam insisted, reaching past her to grab at a piece of paper. He pursed his lips, making a few quick marks on the sheet of notes they’d transcribed from Hera’s paper, adding in a few numbers and designations.

Kara chewed on her inner cheek as she tried to read slantways, grabbing it from him as soon as he’d finished. Glancing over his work, she shook her head, snatching a pencil. “What kind of scientist were you on Earth again?” she asked suspiciously.

“Biopsychology and philosophy,” Sam said dryly.

“It shows,” Kara answered in the same tone, but her lips quirked as she crossed out his first few calculations. Exhaling slowly, she tapped the pointed lead over each note, a dozen formulas swirling in her head but none of them fitting. “Frak.”

“But it’s there somewhere,” Sam said, nodding.

“It could be,” Kara admitted slowly, frowning at the paper. “I hate to bring this up, but what about what your people are always saying about patterns.”

“So the golden ratio, or something like it?” Sam asked.

“Mm, maybe,” Kara said, nodding and bringing the tip of her pencil to her mouth.

“Here, look at this,” Sam said, leaning across her again to point at the beginning of the measure. “This is the melody but we don’t have the exact accompaniment.”

“Yeah, because I never played that part,” Kara said, and it had been something that was bugging her, not only because it reminded her of just how strange this still was (and why wasn’t she more surprised?)

“Yeah, but I wrote it,” Sam said.

She glanced at him, saw the confidence in his eyes and snorted. “You know I still can’t really believe it? You were a Cylon scientist and a musician too?”

“I’d think you’d expect the musician, given what I did when you first met me this time around,” Sam said, with a sudden tease in his words.

“I would have laughed my ass off if you were a rockstar back then,” Kara said pointedly. Then paused.

“What is it?” Sam asked, looking at her closely.

How about the fact that Sam was sitting_ right there_, right next to her, his long body still the same one she’d made herself familiar with for more than three years now. She thought she’d lost that when his mind changed, but she realized now that she’d lost it when it was her that came back different. He’d changed just enough now that the balance was back, and he was familiar again. Kara hadn’t expected that.

“So we may be onto something with these numbers, then,” she said, breathing out, getting back to their task.

“God, I hope so,” Sam said under his breath, the teasing moment gone and the weight of the world fell back on his shoulders.

Kara knew the weight of the world too well, she could avoid it just a minute longer. Things were good again here. Good and open, for the first time in too long. She realized that when she’d wanted Sam back, this was what she’d wanted. Not just him, but him and her like this, close again.

Neither of them looked at the clock that evening, as they kept writing and rewriting and brainstorming, and finding too little for all their pains. Finally they had enough progress to allow sleep to cloud their minds, and Kara didn’t know which of them fell first, but she woke slightly a little while later and found herself lying half on Sam and half on the couch that he lay spread across. His arm curled around her, resting snugly at her waist, and her head lay in the crook where his arm met his shoulder.

She hoped then that even all this confusion and change and worry wouldn’t make her simple wish, to have this back even though she didn’t deserve it, pointless. With her life so far, who knew what the odds would be.


	4. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 4

**Chapter 4** \- _Brought together by impossible longing_

Sam woke with Kara in his arms, her soft form squashed against him without any boundary. It was hard to remember the last time they’d slept together without either a frak or something crazy (or both) coming before. The fingers of his free hand found her hair, curling in it, remembering.

He wondered if he needed to tell her that he was still the same. That all those memories he’d gained, they didn’t change how very real his life as a human was. Even less when he remembered how she’d awed him when only he could see her, when he looked to her with curiosity and wonder and eventually a hopeless love that she didn’t return, but didn’t reject either. He was holding an angel in his arms now, and yet it was nothing more than his intuition had always told him.

He couldn't tell if she needed to hear it in actual words, though. Maybe not, if she was honest about the way that his explanations made sense. But she had a human heart under all the destiny, and Sam knew how cautious hearts could be.

Kara murmured something in her sleep, rolling a little, her nose pressed against his chest and arm reaching to flop over his hips. Sam bent his head down, stole a brief kiss to her hair, blinking to keep his eyes from stinging too much. Frak, he shouldn’t be getting this emotional. He was back, Kara was back, and yet they had a mission, he had to lead. There was so much more that was important than just them, no matter how special they were.

He spared a moment to think about Helo and Sharon and Hera, and about Leoben and Kara and Kacey, and how horribly Cavil had twisted Cylon-human relations so that things could end up like this. It wasn’t just the Five that he’d wronged. Sam felt his emotions finding focus again, and he needed to move, needed to get back to the task.

Looking at the clock, he had no qualms in slowly sitting up, Kara still resting against his chest. She slid, waking with a bit of a jerk.

“What the—” she mumbled, sitting back, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Time for work,” Sam informed her.

“Oh gods, that does not bring back good memories,” she said, and Sam couldn’t help but notice how simply she said it.

“It’s still morning, though,” Sam said, shrugging. “Breakfast?”

Kara closed her eyes, the circles under them less than yesterday but not fully gone. “That would help, as long as my good memory isn’t faulty on that subject.”

“It’s not,” Sam retorted, nudging her a little to scoot out of his way. “And, I can make you breakfast you’ve never had before.”

She snorted. “Ancient Earth cuisine, yeah, just what I wanted.”

“It’ll be good,” Sam promised, starting to get up. “I need something to get my brain going. We’ve got so much still to do.”

“Hey,” Kara said, grabbing his hand as he stood up, leaving her still sitting on the couch.

He looked down, saw a bit of worry in her eyes. She pulled his hand, pulling herself up a little, and he caught her meaning just in time to kiss her softly before she had a chance to do likewise.

“I didn’t bring you back just for the answers, but the answers are pretty frakking important at the moment,” she said in a low voice, once his lips had slowly parted from hers, and they hovered a few inches from each other.

“They are,” he nodded, then kissed her again, putting more into it. He didn’t know if it was necessary or not, but right now he had to say it. “Remembering everything again...I think the only time I was being true to myself was loving you. That doesn’t ever seem to change.”

She chuckled dryly against his face. “Before I remember just how much I shouldn’t feel good, can we eat?”

His smile was a little sad as he brushed his nose against hers, then went to the rest of the day. They’d always managed to find a little world of something better, but she was right, they shouldn’t, not now. Not when they’d told the fleet that they’d have answers.

Sam realized a moment later that all the food they had was still algae, and he sighed, and didn’t look sheepish so much as disappointed as he brought over a plate to Kara.

“Makes all this theory look like fun,” she said, swallowing a mouthful of the ever-more-distasteful stuff.

Sam rubbed his hand across his forehead before looking back at their original sheet music for the song. “So, I was trying to approach this from the opposite direction last night before we went to sleep, remembering John—Cavil—and trying to think where he would take the Colony...”

*******

Lee didn’t know what to say at first when Kara showed up in his office to ask about the current state of the alliance, barely held-in emotion like an aura around her.

“Politics is going to help you?” he asked after a moment. It was possibly more snarky than was called for, though confusion fit it more accurately.

“Sam and I have been talking,” she said, waving her hand to cover all the meanings of that word. Her eyes were bright as they met his. “We think we may have coordinates.”

Lee’s mouth opened a little in his surprise. “You mean...?”  
   
“We might be able to find the Cylons, just not yet,” Kara said. “Sam’s talking to Ellen and your dad right now.”

“What happened?” Lee asked, trying not to blink or stare in his astonishment. He shouldn’t have doubted that Kara would solve their impossible problem, not after everything. He hadn’t exactly doubted, though, but this was beyond fast.

“Oh, way too many stupid-ass theories to start with,” Kara said, rubbing at her eyes a little tiredly even as she fidgeted. “But Sam thinks that since Cavil was so interested in stars, and black holes in particular, that he might have used them for something. That, along with the small pattern we found in the song, might spell out a whole coordinate set.”

Lee tapped his finger on the desk. “But you’d need the location of the black hole.”

“There is that,” Kara said, tipping her head, her hand tapping at her thigh. “Sam went to talk to them about possible indications on the charts and scouting out the possible paths using our half-coordinates.”

“Wow,” Lee said, sitting back in his chair, his mind rushing with all the implications.

Kara’s smile was small but potent. “It’s just the right amount of insane to be possible, is my theory.”

Lee grinned at her. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“But, Lee, it’s not just that,” she said, her tone changing, lines of intense worry coming to her face. “Let’s say that we find the Colony, then what? We’re all supposed to be allies, right? And this would be to rescue Hera, who was part of the fleet long before the rebel Cylons. But Lee, from what Sam’s told me about the Colony, the Cylons can’t do it on their own. Even if Karl and I join in, there will be serious disadvantages.”

Lee frowned, looking down at his hands for a moment. “They’d need our help.”

“A lot of it,” Kara said bluntly. “I don’t want to even mention the idea fleetwide if there’s never going to be a proper chance anyways.”

“What, you wouldn’t just go in on a suicide mission?” Lee asked, giving her a piercing look.

Her smile was more than a little bitter, but close to him all the same. “I would, Sam would. The other Cylons wouldn’t. They’re fewer than we are, from a numbers standpoint.”

Lee rested his hands on the table, pressing his lips together for a second before looking back up at her and speaking. “So you want to know what’s the likelihood of getting volunteers for this?”

Kara nodded shortly.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “We’ve been trying to promote unity—I mean, I’ve been working with the Cylon representative Sonja. But it’s not a downhill slide.”

“Frak no, I know that,” Kara said, and shook her head slightly, lips pursed.

“But you’ve definitely got a chance,” Lee said then, catching her eyes. “Definitely.”

“Okay, okay,” Kara said, stepping back a step, nodding resolutely to herself. “I need to talk to Karl then, or Sharon.” She sighed.

“Hey, Kara,” Lee said, standing up, stepping around his desk. He looked at her closely, saw the lines on her face contrasting with the fierce hope he’d just seen in her eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“You want this to work, right?” he asked, not sure exactly how to approach this.

She frowned. “Lee, it’s Hera, and the enemy has her. I feel guilty every time I forget Karl’s face when he told me. I’m not going to be okay until she’s back, until they’re fixed.”

“Even if it means doing all this?” Lee asked, rushing in because it seemed like the moment. “Everything you’ve done, all the insanity that’s going on around you—though not just you.”

Kara just stared at him for a second. “I don’t even know if any of that matters anymore,” she said with a sharp twist of her lips.

“So you’re okay with your destiny?” he asked quietly.

“What destiny?” she laughed. “All I know is that I’m not human, but that doesn’t seem to be a bad thing so far. Learning about Tigh, Chief, Sam...it kind of made this unsurprising. I’m still Kara Thrace, whatever the frak else I am. I’m holding on to that.”

“Good,” Lee said, a faint smile coming to his face.

“Well, we’ll see,” Kara answered, and he could see the conflict behind her words.

But as she turned to leave, he saw the straightness in her stance and the determination. Maybe they’d all been prepared for this. Human, Cylon, other...maybe it didn’t matter beyond superficial labels. He could tell that Kara didn’t believe it yet, but she was trying. And he wasn’t sure it was a bad idea to try.

He just hoped that her acceptance really was leading to success. Knowing Kara, it was all but a foregone conclusion. Lee smiled to himself and went back to his work.

*******

Ellen approached Sam as he walked in front of the long wall plastered with pictures. She saw his fingers pause over a few pictures, and then he stopped near the end, near where the Cylons had started putting their own pictures up. He stopped, dropped his head, hand resting on the wall.

“Not easy, is it,” she said, standing behind him. “Taking it all in.”

He looked back at her. “It’s fine. I’ve got it. It’s just—”

“You are taking it better than I thought you would,” Ellen said, stepping close to him, reaching out to touch the faces of her children now dead. The loss of resurrection was a terrible burden for a mother to bear. “You adapt to physical change well, Sam, but you were never so good with the emotions.”

“We study the areas we lack,” he answered dryly, glancing down at her, hands resting on the shelf where candles dripped wax in remembrance of the fallen.

“I think we all have a chance now, because of you,” Ellen said. “You and Kara.”

“It didn’t surprise me,” Sam murmured.

Ellen gave him a narrow glance. “You know something about her, don’t you.”

“She’s my wife,” Sam said, giving her a similar glance.

Ellen smirked. “Fine, play it like that. Whatever you’ve both been doing, keep going at it.”

“I’m not doing this just for you, understand,” Sam said.

“If I tried to get you to do that, my reputation as a clever woman would be lost,” Ellen answered with a sweetness that was desert-dry. Having Sam fully aware again was a relief on one hand, but on the other he was the same challenge that he always had been.

“Exactly,” said Sam, with a tight smile. He paused, face twisting with worry again. “Reputations. You managed to make it through with the same one, almost. I wasn’t that lucky.”

“Mm, yes, I thought you’d be beating yourself up over that now,” Ellen said. It must be harder, not just being Sam, but being Sam on Galactica surrounded by reminders with urgency pressing down. Even being stuck with Cavil hadn’t gotten rid of the fact that she’d had so much time to think.

“You know I called for your death for collaborating with Cylons?” Sam said after a second, not looking at her.

“I listened. You were quite animated at the time.” Ellen watched the grimace on his face sharpen, then fall back to plain conflict. “I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t know if I blame myself anymore,” Sam said, the words coming out slowly, achingly. “I thought I did. But I think I’m just confused. I’m having a hard time knowing what parts of my human life to keep. As I said, you were luckier.”

“You’ll figure it out, Sam,” Ellen said, a brief quiet comment. “You always do.” It wasn’t a lie, even though she partly said it to push him forward. She needed him on top of things if they were going to bring Cavil back, heal this conflict once and for all.

“And Adama?” Sam asked then.

Ellen gave a breathy laugh. “Oh, he won’t have a choice, will he? Not once Kara Thrace gets to him. Or to his son, and then his son will get to him. It’s all more than a little twisted, but they do work in traditionally familial ways.”

Sam looked at her, brow furrowed, and then he raised one eyebrow. “Ellen, our Cylon family is hardly less twisted.”

She raised an eyebrow back. “Are we going to talk about _this_ again?”

“No, all that’s past,” Sam said, staring at the wall again. “We have to deal with what we did, not debate choices that can’t be remade.”

“That’s my boy,” Ellen said quietly, and then as silence followed, she turned and walked away. There was only so far she could go before he would start asking different questions, and none of them were ready for that. One step at a time.

*******

Kara felt herself starting to lose it as she sat, head resting in one hand, elbows on her knees as she leaned over the table. “Sam, what the frak are we going to do?” she asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out here,” he answered absently, sitting on the floor on the other side of the table, fingers tapping agitatedly on the paper he kept trying to sketch on.

“No, frak, stop it,” Kara demanded, reaching forward, sliding the paper out of the way. “You’re planning a completely blind jump, and I’m not just talking about FTL.”

“Well what the frak else is there to plan?” Sam asked back, waving his hand at her. “Kara, the Raptor scouts are sent, and they could be back any minute with the information about which black hole the Colony is orbiting. I designed the Colony; even if Cavil changed it, what I have is going to be important for the strategy.”

“And what’s our offense going to be, huh?” Kara pushed, looking at him closely. “What resources do we have?”

“You were there, the Admiral won’t give an answer until we have solid evidence,” Sam said wearily.

“No, other than that,” Kara said. She paused. They’d given too many briefings today that went too well, as if this was just another military campaign against the Cylons, and she and Sam were still just military tacticians of a sort. “Did you forget how we ended up here? I frakking sung you awake, Sam!”

“I know,” he answered, looking in her eyes.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember, but that’s not normal for humans,” she said, holding his gaze steadily.

“Okay, okay,” he said, breathing out, running hand over the stubble growing in over his scalp. He stood up, moving quickly over to the couch where she sat. “I’m sorry, it all made sense to me.”

“Of course it did,” she muttered. And it didn’t make sense to anyone else, but they assumed it did to her, and so she was the only one who was admitting that it was all insane. “Sam, I thought I was okay with having a destiny, but I’m not. I’m not—I’m just—tell me how it possibly can make sense to you, because it still says bad cover band to me.”

“You’re a herald, an angel,” Sam explained, hands outspread simply. “You took care of the cycles, how they repeated. You were trying to stop them.”

Kara bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she could deny that, not unless the Hybrid had separately managed to create that same exact illusion. “Remember what you said about Tory and her seeing Leoben,” she said. “I saw him too.”

“You remember?” Sam asked.

“No, as a human I saw him,” she answered. “He came to me when I was in my viper, showed me some of my past, told me a whole lot of nonsense about letting go. Then he pulled me to the other side, whatever that was.”

“When you died,” Sam said quietly. “I remember now, you told me. I didn’t make the connection.”

“I saw him while you were in a coma, too,” Kara said next, meeting his eyes again. “He said something about it being your destiny to get shot, and that mine wasn’t over. I can’t help thinking, if I was an angel, then why did I end up as a human?”

Sam turned away, face changing a little.

“What?” Kara demanded.

“I remember talking about that with you on Earth,” Sam admitted. “Talking about the power of belief, how thinking of something as true almost makes it true. It was just a hypothetical, about whether our actions would count if we thought we were different people.”

“Oh, that’s harsh,” Kara said quietly, grimacing. Her life had been full of such confusion and ambiguity only a couple years before; now things were finally becoming clear, only painfully so.

“You always said the universe was ironic,” Sam answered, breathing out slowly. “You weren’t wrong about anything, were you? I think I dared you to try being a human, see if you turned out the same.”

“To see if we are more than our memories,” Kara said. She rubbed at her eyes, her mind almost overwhelmed, but not quite yet. “That didn’t go well.”

“Maybe there was another mission, though,” Sam offered. “Maybe you’re still breaking the cycle, only this time you’re doing it unconsciously.”

“That does sound like my kind of stupid,” Kara said with a throaty sigh. She wondered if this was what Sam had felt like when he discovered he was a Cylon and yet didn’t remember.

“It’s not stupid if it works,” Sam rejoined. “And if we can accomplish this, and learn to live in peace, it will have. Maybe that’s the destiny.”

Kara played with the hem of her sleeve, frowning still. “So if I was an angel, who’s now a human, or at least in a human body...then what was that body on Earth that I burned?” Sam chuckled, and Kara was tired of saying it but she had to, a little irritated: “_What_?”

“Kara, if you were some kind of immortal being, then I don’t think resurrection is going to be a big obstacle,” he said, one eyebrow skeptically higher than the other.

She laughed, a Starbuck cackle not from comfort or even amusement, just an appreciating of how abnormal this was. “So then, original question, how does it make sense.”

“Well, other than the Vipers, you’re the same person I remember,” Sam said slowly. “Well, not just the Vipers, but the relationships are new too. The personality, though—you were right, it didn’t change. You’re now human, probably here to help us find Earth and then get us back to our senses. Earth was too vague a goal.”

Kara slowly nodded. It wasn’t so radical like that. “And now it’s Hera?”

“Hera’s symbolic of us living at peace and breaking the cycle,” Sam said, nodding back. He had always been quick to accept what made sense to him.

They paused for a second, just sitting, thinking.

Kara closed her eyes, emphasizing, “I don’t feel any different, even after everything I’ve done lately.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not,” Sam insisted.

“Well, since Cavil didn’t wipe my memories, I may not ever get them back to find out for sure,” Kara muttered. And yet, opening her eyes and staring at her hands, she felt that they were hers. She wasn’t lost in a strange body anymore, not when she knew just enough to—maybe—understand.

Sam breathed out beside her, a little shakily. “Sometimes it’s hard to realize how much I knew, how much I know.”

“We both ended up like that,” Kara said softly, with a quick rise and fall of her eyebrows. It was no accident that when Sam had been in a dark place where only one person could go, she was the person and she cared enough to follow. There had always been something that Sam provided that wasn’t related to simple emotional issues. “I guess we stuck together for a reason.”

“I said I’d love you no matter what, and I didn’t even know how true that was,” Sam said, barely above his breath, his fingers touching her hand.

“Yeah, you’ve always been special, Sam,” Kara said, looking up at him with something between a smirk and a sad smile.

“Are you good now?” Sam asked, brow furrowing just slightly. “Does it make any more sense now?”

Kara chuckled, and turned towards him on the couch. “I think the backstory’s all straight, now, Sam,” she said, leaning in. “And if I’ve always been like this, then there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

A smile crossed his face just before she pulled him in for a kiss, smothering all the changes and worries with something that had become one of her only constants. They’d always been there, together in some form or another. Kara still wasn’t tired of this human form, and as Sam kissed back eagerly, fingers and lips touching every tiny scar and freckle on her face, his touch did the same things to her that it always did before another lifetime was added back to his head.

Breathing in quick as he pushed her back to the couch, her fingers grasping for him, she thought that maybe she _was_ an angel but she also cared too much for this outside-of-normal man who she still called her husband.

It was comfort to be in familiar arms again, smell familiar sweat, feel the smooth lines and planes that hadn’t changed just with this revelation. He was her Sam, and even with the fleet possibly on its last legs, she focused and kept her mind on enjoying this brief respite. It wasn’t hard, and she clung to Sam as they rode together, blue and grey eyes locked on each other, and fingers interwoven when Kara’s legs wrapped around him and pulled him down to her, his hands pressing hers back against the couch and his mouth reaching for hers between heavy breaths.

There was so much tension to uncoil before she found release, so much work to get there, but as Kara finally let loose whimpery breaths, body shaking, Sam was after her in a few seconds and with a low cry. Kara didn’t object as Sam lay worn on top of her for a couple minutes before she nudged him, and with a half-groan he rolled over and scooped her into his arms instead, lying back wearily on the couch.

She’d said goodbye to things ever getting back the way they were, but this was at least the same dynamic. Kara closed her eyes and settled into Sam’s arms, refusing to let the plan and the mission come back to mind just yet.

“It’s a good thing I had no problems with your moves before you got all the new memory,” she murmured.

Sam made a small questioning noise.

“Well, you didn’t remember anything new,” Kara commented almost cheerily, with a slight shrug as she still relished the soft tingly feeling all over her body.

“There wasn’t anything to remember,” Sam said, surprising her by both the words and the way he sat up a little.

This time it was her turn to make the sound of question.

“We weren’t together on Earth,” Sam said above her head, her cheek pressed against his chest. “That was new this time around.”

“Hmm,” Kara said, pleasantly surprised. She had a moment of true amusement for the first time in months when she realized that she’d just been happy for getting a one-up on her past self.

Gods, this whole thing was messed up, and yet it worked. She wondered if she’d had any idea that all this would happen when (if?) she’d taken Sam’s dare to become human. Until she could remember, though, Kara didn’t frakking care. Angel in human form or not, she still stood by what she’d said before, and what Sam had confirmed—she was Kara Thrace. No more, no less.

It wasn’t amusement, just satisfaction, that filled her mind as she realized that she didn’t have any more questions. And dark as it was, that was enough satisfaction for her. Just a few minutes of rest—and Sam’s arms had always been comfortable—and she could get back into the hell of trying to solve everyone’s problems.


	5. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **-_ In the midst of confusion, he will find her_

The news couldn’t come fast enough, but none of the Raptors had found anything. Tracking down the signs of a singularity wasn’t easy, even with the general location known. Three dimensional space didn’t provide ease.

They were so close, though, Sam could feel it. He paced back and forth in the halls before taking a sharp turn finally, finding a direction that might not ease any of his worry, but that he hoped might do something good.

Half of him wasn’t expecting Athena to even answer the door. But she did, and she stared at him with cold swollen eyes, broken into a kind of adamantine strength that hurt to see. Her hand lingered on the door for a full minute, eyes holding his emptily, until finally her jaw clenched and she stepped back to let him enter.

“What is it?” she whispered, arms crossed over her chest.

He reached behind her to softly shut the door. “We’ve made the breakthrough, we just need to track down the final location,” he said. “We’re getting Hera back soon.” It was blunt and might have been hopeful, but this wasn’t just Sam’s hope, it was his swear that he would bring it to conclusion even if it was impossible.

She didn’t even respond, though. He saw her fingers rub in tiny motions along her elbow as her arms stayed crossed. Her eyes looked past him for a full minute before they found his, a sharp void that made him breathe in deeply.

“Why did you create her?” she asked, just above a whisper.

Sam swallowed. “I don’t—”

“Boomer,” she said, and he had never spoken of the Cylons with such hatred as she used now, nor with such despair. “How could you—why would you put such a creature into the world?”

“Sharon,” he said, throat tight, putting his hand to her arm.

“No, don’t touch me,” she ordered sharply. “What were you thinking?”

Sam’s hand came to his head, and he gritted his teeth, breathing out to keep the emotion from tying up his thoughts and words. “Sharon, think about what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking my creators to take responsibility,” Athena answered, almost spitting the words at him, even as her voice trembled. “I’m asking them to explain what they felt they were justified to do to the rest of us.”

“Do you not understand what we gave you?” Sam asked, a desperate frustration in his voice. “To all of you? We gave you free will, and that’s not just the choice to love and be loyal, you also had to have the ability to betray. That’s the only way—”

“Why?” Athena demanded, bitterness in her eyes.

“Because love isn’t love if you can’t hurt,” Sam said, but the determination in his eyes couldn’t wash out the guilt that was impossible to avoid. “Boomer didn’t behave according to some emotionless program, she was taking revenge. Because she’s bitter, because she’s alone, because she was hurt and she doesn’t know what to do, because she’s _human_.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Athena spat, turning from him.

“Your loyalties aren’t the only things that determine humanity,” Sam answered, achingly firm. “Sharon, did you not even notice the mutiny? Humanity hurts the innocent sometimes. It happens. It kills us, but we can’t just write it off as something that’s not us.” He saw her eyes fall, hands clench and tremble, and he reached out his hand again. “Sharon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t not be, and god, I will fight to my last breath to make it better. But I can’t apologize for anyone’s very existence.”

“That’s just another flaw,” she said, voice breaking, trembling all over. A sob broke out, and she put a hand to her mouth to cover it, words tumbling out. “Hera’s probably dead, and it’s because none of you could frakking see the value in some perfection.”

It wasn’t the time for explanations. There was no logic that would make it heal. Sam’s hand rested on Athena’s shoulder, his heart in pieces, until she broke and turned into him, and his arms wrapped around her and just held her. Held her because he was still friend as well as creator, and if she wasn’t ready for hope, all he had to offer was understanding.

Athena wept against his shoulder, fists pressed against his chest, ready to strike or push away when the moment seemed right. The burden of creation had never been so heavy.

*******

“I don’t care how large Cavil’s fleet is,” Kara said, low and firm. “I don’t care if I have to commit mutiny myself. I don’t care if it kills me again. I don’t frakking care what the cost is.”

Helo looked down at her from where he’d just stood as she explained everything. He’d asked, but gave no sign that he heard her answer.

“And don’t you dare not believe me,” she said, under her breath but eyes sharply meeting his.

“I won’t, Kara,” he finally answered, with a shrug of his shoulders that said he had nothing to lose.

When he finally turned to walk off, Kara didn’t know what to do other than wrap her arms tightly around herself. She would be done with everything if her destiny couldn’t give her this one request.

Finally she went back to CIC, asked Hoshi if any Raptors had communicated since she last arrived, and then found the star charts again when he only gave a negative. Her fingers caressed a shot glass as she ferociously scanned for any information that would confirm their guesses, but she couldn’t drink it down.

Sam found her in the briefing room an hour later, face lined and wrought.

“Our lives never were about our own happiness, were they?” she asked, leaning over the table still.

“We couldn’t ever afford it,” Sam answered, words barely coming out without a hitch.

“And the end is coming, I feel it,” Kara said, shaking her head slowly, stars and nebulas and sounds that were almost music crowding her head. “This is all leading up to everything. I thought I was excited, but I’m not. I need this, even if it’s not going to be a thrill.”

“It’s going to work,” Sam said, in a voice too full of tenacity to have anything else. They’d needed their respite, but now resolution was back in full. As soon as the news came, they would be ready to make the necessary moves.

*******

Tory hadn’t bothered to figure out why she took the shuttle over to Galactica, nor why she now stood in the brig, looking through the bars at Chief Galen Tyrol where he lay slumped on the hard bench.

She stood, hands at her sides, gaze taut as she tried to remember. Still unwilling to ask Sam, still avoiding Ellen, there was yet a growing desire for knowledge in her. The need to know was burning at her stronger than she wanted it to, even as the other side of her wanted to leave behind the past and live now.

Chief’s dark gaze met hers, and she realized that he had noticed her standing there. Slowly he rose, and walked towards her, hostility emanating from him but not necessarily for her. He grabbed the phone, and Tory responded.

“What are you doing here?” he intoned.

“Thinking,” she answered.

“You have to be in my space to do that?” he answered, annoyance in his voice.

Tory gave him a small humorless smile. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

He gave a short laugh. “Right.”

Tory almost felt more comfortable with the sharpness of their tones. Though not comfortable, perhaps, just more at home. “Do you regret what put you here?” she asked suddenly.

Chief’s eyes darkened further, pools of black directed towards her. “Yes,” he said through a tight jaw.

Tory paused and then asked simply, “Why?”

Anyone else might have given her a look, an easy answer, something that seemed like a lie and yet might not have been for them. Chief did none of it. “Because it was stupid.”

“It was,” Tory said.

“It didn’t have to be,” Chief said in a low voice, and Tory wasn’t sure she was supposed to have heard it.

She paused, though, and wondered. “I think we all have times like that.”

He snorted. “That doesn’t apply to you, Tory. Not really.” He took a moment, letting the phone fall a little as he turned away, then turning fiercely back and raising it to his mouth again. “You see, we all do those stupid things for love. Love! Such a stupid, dangerous emotion on its own, and yet we go along with it like nothing’s wrong. And if it all works we never realize that it made us an idiot from the start.”

Tory bit back a sharp response, limiting herself to what she could still admit. “Love comes in different forms, Galen—don’t act superior.”

“Oh, so you’ve done it too?” he asked, looking at her closely, but not convinced. “You knocked an innocent woman unconscious and thought it made _sense_? You were the only one out of all of us who escaped that. Just look at who we are. Tigh, Ellen, Sam, all of them still caught in the illusion that their love is something admirable, not something that made them idiots. No wonder the Cylons we created are disturbed. The Eights, who can’t seem to get a life of their own. The Sixes, who aren’t sure if they love Baltar or hate him. The Twos, who locked Starbuck up for months on New Caprica. I know Ellen says that it’s not all of them in the same way, but the pattern holds no matter how you look at it. They’re all susceptible to love, and so they end up in godsawfully stupid messes.”

Tory just stared at him, at the self-hatred and bitterness in his eyes that he was trying to turn outward, trying to make about the broken world instead of the broken self that he knew existed in him. She was so close to nodding, to saying yes, to agreeing. But she couldn’t.

“There are times when stupidity is called for,” she finally said, shortly, and turned on her heel to leave, the phone left hanging by its cord.

She swallowed again as she went back to her shuttle, feeling regret lying cold in her belly as she acknowledged it for the first time. She wanted to push it away, forget that it could exist. But Tyrol was right, they were all stupid for love, even if it was simply the love of being part of this fleet—and Tory was realizing that she couldn’t stand being separate anymore. The only stupidity she could find, though, was the stupidity that had told her that killing a woman was fine because she was threatening Tory’s family. Tory’s family had now stopped regarding humanity as strangers, and that meant that soon Tory might be rejected by them all.

That was the stupidity, that was the bitterness that clung to Tory as she went back to the baseship. And yet like Chief she felt like hating herself for it.

*******

Lee thought he might be getting a little too used to these diplomatic lunch meetings.

“I think I’ve finally convinced Ellen that now is a good time for Galen Tyrol’s trial,” Sonja reported, taking her seat next to Lee on the couch in his room.

“You convinced Ellen Tigh of something?” Lee said, eyebrows fully raised. He poured glasses of ambrosia, then lifted his towards her. “That’s an accomplishment worthy of a toast.”

Sonja smiled a little and toasted back. “Well, their current plans are still at a standstill.”

“And the fleet is not,” Lee said with a sigh, after a sip of his drink. “Which is what I need your help with.”

“Have my people done something that I was unaware of?” Sonja asked, a frown in her brow.

“Not like that,” Lee assured. “It’s more what you haven’t done, or what we haven’t told the fleet about what you’ve done.”

“You’re being cryptic,” Sonja said flatly, taking a sip.

“What I mean,” Lee continued hastily, “is that the fleet has figured out that something’s going on. Besides the alliance. None of the information about the Final Five has made it to the public’s attention, aside from the fact that they know they’re Cylons. Even when Ellen Tigh came back, people didn’t pay it mind. And she’s been staying out of the public eye, so they didn’t guess. But now, with Sam, they’re starting to ask questions. Especially since Kara’s involved.”

“Well, what do they want to know?” Sonja asked.

“What it all means, I suppose,” Lee offered, nodding towards nothing in particular. “Why the Final Five are behaving differently, if Kara’s a Cylon...” To be honest, Lee wasn’t sure even he had heard everything.

“She’s not,” Sonja said with a frown.

“Yes, but they don’t even know that,” Lee said. “That’s the point. She’s been close with your people ever since the piano incident, and the people all know some of the strange things that surrounded Kara. So they’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Isn’t that always the case?” Sonja remarked dryly.

Lee ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not right, though. And I think we can change it. I think if we made a disclosure to the fleet of exactly what your history is, what the current situation is, and how that all affects them, it would not only stop the false conclusions but would also help the fleet accept you.”

Sonja took another sip of ambrosia and pursed her lips. “Or it could make them panic, if they knew what the Five could do.”

Lee frowned, not having thought of that. “I don’t think so. Right now, they think that the Five were pretending to be humans in the fleet, deceiving all of us. Before that, though, the Five were mostly respected. If the fleet knows the whole story, they’re likely to head back to that interpretation, maybe be more comfortable with the Cylons if they know how the Five were different and were leading things.”

He watched Sonja as she paused, thinking about the information. By this point, he was surprised by how she didn’t behave much differently from any other politician he interacted with. She was certainly more reasonable than at least half of the new Quorum.

“You have good points,” Sonja said after a moment, nodding once towards him. “It does not make sense for us to be hiding anything, not if we are to truly join you. The story is strange, but not so much that I fear adverse reactions.”

Lee smiled at her choice of words. “And actually, after everything we’ve gone through, it’s not much more strange than anything else.”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Sonja said, lifting one eyebrow and quirking her lips.

“I’ll get to work on a draft of the disclosure, then,” Lee said, setting down his glass. “Will you be arranging the trial for Tyrol?”

“It is technically an internal Cylon affair,” Sonja said, nodding.

“Well, let’s hope all the destiny projects that the rest of our leaders have been working on will hold off a little, for everyone’s sake,” Lee said as he stood.

Sonja hummed her agreement as she also stood, then shook Lee’s hand. “It is all important, the destiny projects as you call them.”

“I know, just not the only thing of importance,” Lee said, shaking hers firmly back.

*******

“I should be furious with Lee,” Adama rumbled, pouring himself a drink.

He was talking to Saul, but Ellen watched from across the room with sharp eyes. She had just caught Laura’s gaze, and for a moment there had been communication that felt crystal clear. There was so much that needed to be done, and so much that Bill Adama and Saul Tigh were just not ready to do.

“He did ask for clearance first,” Saul answered with a shrug, glancing at Laura.

“It’s not going to bring another mutiny, Bill,” Ellen spoke up. Lee’s full disclosure and support of the Final Five was everything she had been planning for. She knew the importance of Lee to anything done in the fleet, not least because of the immovable object that was Bill Adama.

“Well, we don’t frakking know that,” Saul offered cautiously.

“No, we don’t,” Laura agreed crisply, raising her head from where she sat propped by pillows to defend her approval of Lee. “But if we’re going to get any control over anything now, we have to make some kind of move.”

“This was not the time,” Adama objected, frowning. “We have no answers.”

“Which makes this the perfect time,” Laura said, eyes and voice clear even on her deathbed. Ellen had personally never felt that Laura deserved her position so much as now. “They’re taking what we said as answers enough to provoke questions that are unanswerable. They’re occupied with that, and that is a good thing. Too occupied to have any united opinion based on the recent events. The disastrous period might be over by the time they fall back into a group.”

Ellen watched them all meaningfully, but held her tongue. The as-yet-unacknowledged prospect of the rescue of Hera was first in her mind, and this chaos would prove invaluable. This was the chaos that brought people to do things that they should do, but didn’t think they should. This was the way for humans to ally with Cylons and not think twice—or well, thrice.

“You don’t have any reservations?” Saul asked her a moment later.

“Not a one,” Ellen answered with a small smile, and a sip of her drink in hand.

Before anything else could be said, there was a sharp knock on the hatch. All four looked as Adama said, “Enter!”

The hatch spun open, and Kara Thrace all but charged in, Sam on her heels. She waved a piece of paper printed from CIC, a light in her eyes.

“We’ve got it, sir.”

Ellen couldn’t help leaning forward in anticipation, pleasant shock mingling with satisfaction.

“They found the Colony?” Laura asked, eyebrows highly raised in her surprise.

“We have a full visual of it on the edge of a naked singularity,” said Sam, readiness on his face.

“So the song worked,” Saul said with a long exhale.

“No, actually,” Sam said, looking at him with a frown.

“It didn’t have anything to do with the Colony; we don’t know why,” Kara confirmed, giving Sam a look. “But Admiral, sir, we have what you need. The coordinates are here, Sam’s already got the layout ready, so we just need to assess resources and then we can begin our strategy.”

For a moment Adama looked as if his promise had been made without any hope that there would ever be a chance of success. But Ellen couldn’t help but smile to herself as she saw his hesitation fly away at the sight of Kara’s eager, serious face, and Sam at her back.

“Let’s get going here and now,” he finally said, pushing the bottle and glasses and books out of the way on the table. As Kara and Sam spread the papers they’d brought on the table, and as Ellen and Laura rose from the couch to join them, Ellen felt that nothing would stop this rescue mission now. And that was beyond well and good.


	6. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 6

**Chapter 6** \- _The way forward at once unthinkable, yet inevitable_

Lee didn’t know what to think as he was brought in for the second strategy meeting, Sonja and Tory and Chief as well. The board in his father’s quarters had been propped up above the table, and was marked with a basic sketch of a military attack. On the table lay the pictures that Racetrack had taken.

Sam stood next to Adama behind them all, with everyone else seated. Lee didn’t know why until Adama started speaking. Everything was relying on the Cylons.

“The only route left to us by the naked singularity,” Adama said, pointing at the picture, “is barely beyond the borders of the Colony itself. This means that once we jump in, we will be under heavy fire.”

“But,” said Sam, raising his hand as Adama looked to him, looking oddly comfortable in this role, “the Colony’s defenses are completely controlled by its Hybrid, and are therefore accessible to us. The baseship’s Hybrid will not be involved. From all I remember about what we learned of the Hybrid function, it runs along the same lines of communication as resurrection, so we will be able to send direct messages to the Colony.”

“How?” asked Chief. For all the bitterness Lee had seen in him in prison, he seemed oddly resigned now, post-trial. He served parole now, and would serve his time in the Eight’s—in Anna’s—place if there was such a thing when this was all over. It seemed to give him focus again.

“Us,” Sam answered. “The Five. Because of our original Cylon form, as well as the changes we underwent to create resurrection, we have the strongest connections with the control fluid used in the Hybrid’s conduits and the panels on the baseship.”

“And after the Colony’s Hybrid is down?” asked Chief, frowning at the table.

“There will still be all the Raiders to face,” Sam said with a grave nod.

“This doesn’t make sense,” objected Sonja from her seat, brow furrowed. “The baseship is the only thing we have that can protect the fleet once Galactica is no more, which we all know will be very soon. How can we possibly take it on a mission against such odds?”

Sam looked to Adama again.

“Galactica will also be going on the mission,” he said, looking at the table as he did so.

Lee’s heart lurched. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“I want to take her out on one last mission,” Adama said, this time his gaze falling directly on Lee. “She may not have another jump in her.”

Lee looked at his father, saw the pride mingling with despair in his face, and knew that giving up on his beloved ship was costing him almost as much as losing Roslin. “But even then, the odds...”

“They won’t be even,” Sam acknowledged.

“This will be a volunteer mission only, as well,” Adama added.

“I still do not believe that both warships should go,” Sonja said firmly.

“There is something else,” Sam said, his gaze traveling around the faces of the Cylons at the table. “I designed the Colony, including a back door for baseships. It’s a hot spot, not too obvious, and Cavil couldn’t know about it since not even the rest of the Five knew; it never came up before. As soon as the baseship jumps in after Galactica and shuts down the Hybrid, it will jump again. There are special coordinates for the Colony’s hotspot, which not only fits a baseship, but shields its presence from being detected. From there, we can enter the Colony from the other side, where security will be lesser than on Galactica’s side where they will force their way in. Once the baseship teams have embarked, the baseship may jump back to the fleet.”

There was no more objection after that, just tightening strategy. Kara talked ground troops and Sam brought out the map of inside the Colony where probable locations for Hera to be held had been circled. Nothing was set in stone for numbers, as volunteers had yet to be solicited. Lee noticed that neither Tory nor Ellen wanted to stay after the Five had shut down the Hybrid, and he wondered how well they would succeed if more followed their examples.

And then he noticed that no one had yet assumed that he would go. He blinked, and realized that he hadn’t even assumed it for himself.

He looked at his father again, looked at Galactica around them, and knew that he wasn’t letting them go on this last mission without his help. It would be back into a uniform again.

*******

Everyone on Galactica started evacuating within the hour after the call went out for volunteers, and with all the people leaving the nearly-doomed ship, the few coming in could barely be counted.

Sam watched from the bridge overlooking the hangar bay at the end of the day, as some of the last hasty shipments departed, leaving mission equipment and people standing around with nothing else to do. A team of Centurions marked with red stripes flew over from the baseship to offer their services to Galactica’s planned ground-assault teams.

“Are you supposed to be standing around?” Kara’s voice came from off to his right. It was a half-hearted attempt at teasing.

“Galen is setting up the fluid on the baseship, and Ellen is helping with the baseship evacuation,” Sam said, looking to her, marking the look of busyness on her face. “And then Adama said I should stay here in case his gunners need to ask questions about how the Colony runs.”

Kara made a small noise in the back of her throat, looking past him down at all the work below. Her fingers rested on the edge of the metal barrier, steady, easy.

“It feels good to have something tangible to work towards, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, breathing out without looking at him. “It just doesn’t feel like destiny.”

Sam winced a little, looking back down. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

“We didn’t use any of the song in the strategy,” Kara commented. Her tone was almost dry, just a hint of need beneath it.

“I had noticed,” he answered in the same tone. “But maybe—maybe we need Hera before that all becomes clear.”

His gaze caught her nodding out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “And...and I saw Helo and Athena talking to the pilots about the mission.”

Sam knew she wasn’t talking about Adama’s decision to have Raptors carry nukes, in case they needed to take out the Colony as a last resort. It had bothered him, but he knew that this was a desperate war. No, Kara wasn’t talking about that. “Is Sharon coping?” he asked, looking closely at her.

Kara nodded even as she bit her lip. Her eyes met his with the same concern. “I think she finally believes us.”

Sam nodded without saying anything for a few seconds. He didn’t glance down at the workers below, but he pictured them in his mind. “You approved of the plan,” he said, holding Kara’s eyes closely. “But do you think we’ll come out alive?”

She gave him a tight smile. “I could have signed off on a suicide mission for all of us.” She shook her head shortly. “But I didn’t exactly, this time.”

“Good,” Sam answered with a tiny smile, leaning his elbow on the barrier as he turned to watch her face, just soaking it all in. “I hadn’t thought so.”

“No, it’s a good plan,” Kara sighed. “And I’m counting on us doing good with it.”

“This reminds me of old times,” Sam said after a second, feeling a little nostalgia come over him.

She frowned. “Earth?”

He bit back a small chuckle. “No, the resistance, on Caprica. Old isn’t the proper terminology, I guess, but it’s what comes to mind.”

“Old for us, then,” she interpreted. “Just not for you, and maybe not for me either.”

She held his gaze for a moment, a moment where they swallowed once again the fact that they were older than they’d thought, older than even they felt. Sam might remember over two thousands years ago, but relativity had given him a shorter lifespan. Kara just couldn’t remember, but it accounted for the same. It was not the sort of shared feeling that they’d expected to have when they started this relationship three years ago.

“Well, I’ve got an appointment with the volunteer marines,” she said after a moment, standing up straight. She put out her hand, nudging his where it lay on the railing as well. “Not long before everything goes down for the last count.”

He half squeezed her fingers before she pulled them away, and she half squeezed back before turning away to get to work. Breathing in deeply, he felt that this was just the right mission for them, a simple desire wrapped in complex workings.

“Mr. Anders?” said the young man who approached him from the left.

He rose back up to his full height and looked at him, mind flying back to the present.

“Sir,” the man said, swallowing, “Doctor Cottle would like to give you a check up before the mission.”

Sam was a little surprised, but nodded. The man walked off, and Sam took a moment before following him, assembling the last couple days as a pattern of new thoughts. He felt an itch at the back of his head where a raised scar lay and rubbed at it, the low stubble of his growing hair a symbol of this thrice-reborn life he had. Just a random bullet had given it to him. It made him believe that there was more to resurrection in the universe than now-lost technology.

He had only made it halfway to the infirmary, though, before turning down an empty corridor near officers’ quarters and coming face to face with Tory. She had been walking swiftly, but stopped short as she saw him.

“Sam,” she said, mouth twisting in worry. “We need to talk now.”

Her tone, and the uncertainty that flashed across her face just after she spoke the words, had all other thoughts flying from his mind. “What is it?” he asked, remembering their last true conversation.

“This communication with the Hybrid,” Tory said, not stepping closer to him and with hands tightly at her sides. “Colonel Tigh came to Ellen, and they were speculating that maybe our minds will connect with each others’ as well as the Hybrids’, and maybe our lost memories will be released.”

All the times that Sam could remember sitting on the Colony, taking notes on the strange beings that the Centurions had created and called Hybrids, such a consideration hadn’t crossed his mind. The computer and biological science flitted before his eyes as the implication hit him. “It’s possible,” he said, suddenly intrigued. But then his eyes found Tory’s again, and he saw nothing but conflict in them.

“I can’t do it,” she said firmly, looking straight at him even as her eyes seemed veiled.

Sam didn’t know what to say or to think.

“I’m not going to do this mind meld thing,” Tory said again, words spilling out hasty but fierce. “Surely the four of you will be enough; I don’t want anything to do with this mission, I’m not volunteering.” Her weight shifted as if she was ready to turn and walk off, conversation over. But she didn’t have the time.

“You stated those priorities in the correct order, didn’t you?” Sam said after a pause, when his mind had analyzed what his eyes were reading. He hadn’t been wrong, Tory wasn’t as calm as she tried to appear, and things weren’t right. He didn’t know how, or why, but he felt that it was all about to become clear, if only she would stay. “You could jump back with the baseship, hardly risk anything. You’ve never been a coward. What are you trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know Sam, you haven’t figured it out yet?” she answered, tone back to the bitter sarcasm that had become customary over the past months. “Aren’t you supposed to read those things so we don’t have to tell you?”

She hadn’t turned back, and Sam stepped forward. “I can’t read minds.”

“Good,” she answered swiftly.

“Why?” Sam asked quickly, stepping in again as she continued to turn. “Why?”

Her weight shifted back, and he could see words caught in her mouth, words she didn’t want to say and yet did. Just like she wanted to walk off, cool and distant, and yet she didn’t. Something was eating her up, and once again Sam felt wrong for not knowing what it was.

“Let’s just say I’m not comfortable with that kind of openness,” Tory said with a slight pursing of her lips. “I wronged both sides, and that’s more than I want to deal with myself, so I’m certainly not sharing it.”

“We all did things we weren’t proud of,” Sam started before he really heard, then the wince on Tory’s face coincided with his brain finally hearing what she’d just said. “Hold it, _both_ sides?”

Her face hardened, and she turned again.

Sam’s mind spun around, and he reached out to grab her arm. “Tory, wait.” Concern bit sharply at him, and his eyes tried to search hers. “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to tell you and spite my better judgment,” she said, a half snap at him as he held her arm, but her eyes were losing the sheen of disconnect. If she wasn’t quite agreeing with her better judgment, he wasn’t even considering it.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, and tried to find words to ask her, what had she done against the humans.

“Sam, you want me to talk even less than I do,” she said after a moment, adding a sigh.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “Tory, I’ve had enough tough conversations to know that they’re better to have.”

Her face twisted, almost in agony, before she roughly pulled away from him and grabbed the nearest door. Twisting the hatch open, she walked inside the empty room, and Sam was following her before he could think.

“Sam, I’m sick of this,” she said as soon as he’d closed the door. “After all we’ve done, after all we’ve admitted, I’m sick of not saying it. You said that I had common sense back on Earth, remember?”

Her tone was just straight-forward enough to put him off balance, but he nodded, brow creased as he tried to follow. “It was what helped us succeed so quickly.”

“Well, common sense only works when you know all the facts,” Tory said. “And before Ellen came back—right after we’d just found out, even, I thought I did, I thought I had it.”

Sam started to feel his stomach turn as her tone seemed to grow hasty, as she added too much filler to her sentences. “What did you do?” he asked in a low tone.

She swallowed and looked him straight in the face. “I killed Cally Tyrol.”

There was no way she could have slapped him harder across the face than with those words.

“She found out that we were Cylons,” Tory continued, as if nothing had just happened.

“Stop, no—” Sam said, about to be sick, holding up his hand.

“She would have informed on us, killed herself and Nicky,” Tory tried to explain.

“No, no, no—” Sam said, shaking his head, trying to swallow down the bile in his throat. “Tory, _no_!”

“Yes, Sam,” Tory said back, firmly, staring straight at him.

“What are you saying?” Sam demanded, remembering Cally’s face, remembering her house on New Caprica where he and Kara had spent many dinners, remembering her voice and her laugh, remembering Nicky, remembering Chief’s wild guilt and grief.

“I didn’t see another way, and I thought it was better that we all stayed safe. She would have killed herself before I got there; I just made sure she did it before we were all killed because of her.”

Sam couldn’t believe the look he saw on Tory’s face. “And you’re telling me this?” he said, voice breaking as comprehension still failed him, and he was almost shaking. Tory. Had killed. Tory. Friend. Family. Had killed. Tory. Cally. He couldn’t think straight.

“It was what had to be done then, so I did it,” Tory said, even as her face seemed overcome with conflicting emotions.

“You murdered her,” Sam interrupted, barely above a whisper. He took a step back. “You murdered Cally.”

“I executed her,” Tory said, suddenly sharp, even as her eyes looked pained. “Because you were right about one thing, Sam, and being true to our own is important.”

“Humans are our own,” Sam snapped back, still full of horror.

“I didn’t have that knowledge then,” Tory said back, taking a step towards him.

Sam took another step away. “You shouldn’t have needed it,” he continued. He shook his head. “God, Tory, are you justifying it?”

“It was an error,” Tory said, her own head shaking. “I wouldn’t do it now. It was a wartime mistake, and I regret it, I shouldn’t have.”

“Godsdamn right,” Sam said bitterly. The despair that Cally’s death had been accompanied by came flooding back along with the cruel twist of betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Tory said again, softly, looking up to him again. Her eyes were troubled, as if her whole life was flipped on its head.

But Sam couldn’t look at her. He took another step back, felt the wall, brought his hand to his face as if about to cover his mouth to keep from saying something—then turned and walked quickly from the room. Feeling his throat choking in on itself, he had to find a place alone. His world was broken again, but he could never have guessed that it’d be like this.

*******

“There will be two main teams, one from the baseship, and one from Galactica,” Kara explained, list in her hand as she stood alone with Lee in the empty ready room. It hadn’t taken long after she’d left Sam to realize that things were nearly ready. Evening was coming upon them, and tomorrow’s dawn would bring battle. “Sam’s helping me lead the baseship team. He needs to be there for the Hybrid shutdown, but since rescuing Hera is somehow connected to both of us—well, we have to go in.”

Lee nodded, breathing out. “So you’ll be there.”

“Yes,” Kara said. She tipped her head, gave him a sad twisted smile. “I want to believe there’s still some meaning to find in that song after all.”

 “And I hope you do,” Lee said back, smiling straightly. “So you want me to lead the other team?”

“You offered,” Kara said with a half shrug. “And you know there’s no one I’d trust more, not with Helo and Athena leading the pilots. Just—you know you’d be leading Centurions too?”

Lee tipped his shoulder towards her, arms loosely crossed. “At this point, how could I really care?”

Kara gave a low chuckle. “I don’t know, but I have to wonder sometimes if it’s just me. I grew weird a lot faster than you did.” The last few words were a bit more truth than the usual fact-giving conversations had.

Lee looked up at her, eyes soft. “Kara, you’re not weird,” he said. Then, with a twisted smile of his own, “No, wait, I’m not going to lie to you. But it’s a magnificent weird. And knowing you, it doesn’t really surprise me at all.”

She smiled back, a lump in her throat, warm emotion calming the tense preparation. “Except you always said I’d come to a bad end.”

“You did,” Lee said, without a tease in his eyes. Kara’s eyes widened, but he continued. “You came to a bad end, all the Colonies destroyed, and you said ‘frak that’ and made it not the end. And you’ve done it again and again for everyone you care about, and this time we’re all at your back. How could we not be?”

“There are a frakton of reasons,” Kara said, words barely making it past the lump in her throat. Her gaze wavered, finding it difficult to hold a gaze full of that kind of love and trust. “Like me not being able to explain exactly what I am?”

“You haven’t changed your name, right?” Lee asked, mock-curiously. He took a step forward, putting a hand softly around her elbow, saying something that he’d only started saying this clearly in the past few months. “Knowing ‘Kara Thrace’ is all that matters.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kara said with a wavering smile. Then suddenly she wrapped her arms around him, an embrace of thanks she couldn’t express in words. He held her for a few seconds, tight and close, face buried in her hair.

“Good hunting, Kara Thrace,” he whispered into her ear as they finally separated.

“Good hunting, Lee Adama,” she answered, smiling up at him.

He glanced at her one last time over his shoulder as he left the ready room to move on. Kara just inhaled slowly, and Lee had been right, all her lingering doubts about identity were meaningless. She swallowed, and added Lee’s name at the head of the Galactica team list. Her thumb passed over hers and Sam’s at the top of the other one, and her lips quirked in a tiny smile. Her and Sam and Lee, partners in this insanity as they always should have been. Tomorrow would feel right even if it wasn’t part of her destiny.

*******

Sam sat alone in Chief’s quarters, bent over, elbows on his knees and head in shaking hands. He felt shaken by sobs that he hadn’t even cried. Tory, the small serious woman he’d spent so much time around, with her obsession with her projects and her occasional soft humor. She had been so honest, not careful at all.

He realized that it was only the deception that was killing him, and that hurt even more. Somehow murder for the greater good had always been somewhere in her, if the cause was desperate enough, and these past years had provided plenty of reason for them all. Lying wasn’t like her, though, and to even try meant that somewhere under that cool pragmatism she had doubted.

She had doubted, and yet she had opened the airlock anyways. Sam shut his eyes tighter to drown out the recall of Cally’s last conversation with him, a meaningless chat in the mess hall, her face worn and weary but with a bit of a smile. Tory had ended that strength forever. It didn’t matter if she was just ‘helping along’, and she knew it.

He wasn’t even sure if her regret mattered. It wouldn’t matter to Galen. Galen would have pulled the first trigger he found. Galen wouldn’t have even considered all the things_ he’d_ done and regretted. Sam’s first reaction was to not want to either, but he had to. He couldn’t play favorites.

Some, like Cavil, hurt because the hurt was the goal. You couldn’t live with those people, and in the case of Cavil, the entire Cylon race had been at stake because of him. The universe had to be freed of him. But Tory hadn’t done it for that, she’d done it for the twisted cold sense of caring that she’d felt for them all. For the backwards reasoning that it was the only way. She hadn’t enjoyed it, and she didn’t like it now, even if she refused to say that she’d been entirely wrong. What do you do with someone like that? Someone unfeeling enough to be a danger, someone caring enough to be a person who could possibly deserve forgiveness.

And yet, she had murdered Cally. Sam needed to talk to Kara, needed someone to hear all these thoughts and not leave him alone. But he couldn’t. It was too dangerous for Tory. Anyone he talked to would be the same danger.

He looked up finally at the clock, saw the late hour and knew that Kara would be back soon. There was a decision to make before then, something he had to do so that hopefully she wouldn’t see what was wrong. Talking would have to be for later.

Standing up, rubbing his face with one hand, he set his shoulders back and his jaw tight. He left the room behind him, and walked back to where he’d left Tory standing.

She was still there, face guarded, eyes not meeting his. Her hands clenched tightly, looking ready to strike.

“This is what happens, Tory,” he said flatly. “We are so close to this battle, and there is nothing I can do that won’t destroy something we’ve prepared. So you’re coming with me. We’re going to go on the baseship, fulfill the mission, and we won’t join so closely that they can see everything. And then—” His eyes found hers sharply. “And then you will be right by my side through the entire rest of the mission, and maybe we’ll all die and it won’t matter, but if we don’t, this will all be faced then. Got it?”

She gave him one short nod, and opened her mouth.

He put up a hand. “Don’t. I’m not ready for this. We leave tomorrow; be there and ready, and don’t say anything. God, Tory, you of all people must realize how this is not the time.”

She turned away from him to leave the room, and the last sight of her face that he saw held pain. Bitter anger, but pain as well. He just couldn’t understand it.

Breathing out, he stood for a few moments before leaving.

Kara was already in Chief’s quarters when he got there, sitting in the chair and staring at the mission briefing. He stood behind her, looking down, and then stooped to kiss the top of her head.

“Sam?” she asked. “What if _our_ destiny is to die on this mission?”

His hand stroked her shoulder. “You’d just come back again,” he murmured. “But it’s not. It can’t be. There’s still too much—too much.”

“You okay?” she frowned, looking up at him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

She smiled half-heartedly, then reached up and pulled his face down. She kissed him, hard at first, then soft. Her fingers held his face, stroking, as her lips brushed once more against his before letting go. She breathed out, a sigh of finding a moment of solace.

“I’m just tired,” he said under his breath, fingers caressing the back of her neck.

She nodded. “Sleep it is. The best idea I’ve heard all day.”

He chuckled wearily as she stood, and he followed her around the chair towards the bed. “Our plans all sucked that bad, then?”

She gave a similar half laugh as she flopped on the bed, rolling over and pulling him in after her, waiting a few moments for them to adjust. Sam lay on his side, one arm out, Kara leaned up against him with her face towards his chest. “No,” she managed to say finally. “And don’t make a comment, because I’m too tired to respond.”

“No problem there,” he yawned, arm settling around her waist, holding her to him.

Kara hummed one last time before her eyes closed, and Sam, her presence giving him just the right relief from the day’s struggles, followed her into sleep.

*******

The next morning, Sam stood on the baseship with the Final Five all around him. Even Tory. He’d blocked off his heart from acknowledging just what that meant. In a moment, they’d get the signal and they’d all jump, and the tub of warm glowing conduction fluid before them would be put to use.

Just beyond him stood a team of red-striped centurions, a couple Twos, three Sixes, and an Eight, who were the rest of their ground team. And Kara. Her hair was drawn up in a tight ponytail, her face set, and she was ready for anything.

A few levels below, pilots itched for flight in heavy Raiders, prepared for launch. Outside them in space was Galactica, nearly torn to shreds after such a long journey, and inside her were insane human volunteers. Not just human, though— Caprica and Athena, and more Centurions, stood as reminders that this was all still for each other. Hera couldn’t help being symbolic to them.

And finally they heard the communication.  
_  
“All systems accounted for and ready for jump,”_ came Adama’s voice over the line.

“Nothing different on our side, Bill,” Saul said through his radio, resignation and anticipation both in his voice.  
_  
“Shipwide communication,”_ came Adama’s voice again._ “This is the admiral. Just so there’ll be no misunderstandings later. Galactica’s seen a lot of history. Gone through a lot of battles. She will not fail us if we do not fail her.”  
_  
Sam looked over, caught Kara’s eye, and they shared a short nod. Galactica wasn’t all they had to count on.  
_  
“Action stations. Start the clock.”_

“Start the clock,” Tigh repeated, and he nodded to Galen.

Galen sent the message down to the Hybrid and Sam breathed in. He tried not to look at Tory, just think about what to tell the Hybrid, what to say to make this all work. It could be their last mission, and it would work. It had to.

“And, jump!” Galen announced, just as the world pulsated around them.

Sam exhaled, felt the change in space, and barely heard the confirmation of their location before he put his hands into the fluid before him.

It was all starting now.


	7. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 7

**Chapter 7** \- _Hungering for redemption that will only come in the howl of terrible suffering  
_  
Lee felt the roar of battle settle on him only seconds after they jumped, as thunderous shots pummeled Galactica and his ground teams could barely stand their ground.

The pilots were shot from the ship, and he tapped in to the radio, listening for the cue. The ship groaned around him, every beam protesting each Cylon shot. Then silence—then Tigh’s voice over the radio.  
_  
“Hybrid down, time to move on in!”_

Lee leapt to his feet. “Helmets secured, everyone, we’re heading in!”

The raiders had been launched and the pilot chatter started getting noisy. Lee flicked the switch and turned it off, directing his mind towards what needed to be done. The door blew, grapples were tossed, and he descended into the Cylon Colony.

*******

“Saul, what is it?” Ellen asked as he watched the ground team dash out through the airlock, boots and Centurion feet clanking together. She had been shocked when Tory volunteered at the last minute, but Saul stood looking hesitant.

“I’m not jumping back yet,” he finally said, turning to her. “We’re not in danger yet, and Bill might still need a diversion.”

Ellen should have seen it coming. Still, gritting her teeth, she didn’t exactly want to leave before it was all over anyways.

“So, I cancel the jump order?” Galen asked, eyebrow raised.

“Keep it on hold,” Ellen advised.

Saul had somehow tapped into the radios, and the clipped battle communication started pouring through the baseship.

Ellen put her hands back into the fluid, focusing her mind, trying to link with the Hybrid. If she was going to stay here, she wanted to see the bigger picture of how much danger they were in.

*******

Lee didn’t realize how fast he was breathing until they restored pressure and he took off his helmet, and suddenly the world was unfogged. Helo and Athena had flown their raptor through the door that Galactica had blown, bringing both escape and backup. Lee, looking at the hard expressions on their faces, felt like maybe their enemy didn’t deserve having to face those two. As a commanding officer, he just hoped they’d keep it in check.

A Centurion took the lead, waving him on. Lee almost got caught off guard by the thought that a Cylon was helping him avoid an attack by Cylons. But now wasn’t the time for that. He followed through, gun raised, Helo and Athena right at his back and the rest of his team just a few steps behind.

So far, so good.

*******

Every moment longer that Tory was on the Colony, she despaired more and more. At this point she almost hoped that their mission would fail, that they would all die here and escape the frustration of this mess of a life. Kara and Sam, almost back to back as they took the lead down each corridor with a gun in each hand, didn’t even notice her.

But Tory, uncomfortable with the weapon she’d been given, felt grateful for that. She was ready for this all to be over quickly.

They still hadn’t seen a Cylon, and the radio chatter was only coming from the pilots. Tory dreaded whatever Cavil had planned for them as they moved closer to the Colony’s center. At least if she’d been airlocked, it would have been an easy death, and the waiting wouldn’t have been nearly as tormenting.

*******

Laura Roslin, high on drugs that were barely enough to keep her alive, sat in the infirmary and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of battle.

Her mind drifted for a second, and as she tried to pull it back, she saw a flash of gold engraving and red curtains.

She gasped.

Just then, their first injury was rolled in, screaming, and she was up on her feet and working with Ishay.

*******

Lee just had to find Hera, or find the baseship team, but he could do neither. He kept calculating how far they’d gone and how far it would take to get back to the Raptor, and none of the results had him pleased.

The Centurion rounded the corner first, then opened fire, the claps of the first shots fired on this mission sending Lee’s heart racing. They all darted ahead, but one of the Fours lay already dead, and that was it.

“We’ve got to be getting close,” Lee said over his shoulder.

Helo was running ahead, though, and even though Lee couldn’t keep up as they ran down endless corridors, he wasn’t going to try to stop the man. He’d known his own father long enough to recognize which kinds of desperate love were pointless to try to corral.

*******

Kara had no idea where they were going, even as Sam kept speeding up as if he recognized something. It didn’t help that his legs were too frakking long for them to be trying to watch each other’s backs. It was like boot camp with Karl all over again.

They rounded a corner and a shot whizzed past her head just before she and Sam sent a hail of bullets into their first Centurion. It was one of the old ones, and three more jumped in to take its place.

“Defense hold back!” she shouted an order back to the rest of the team. “Offense get your frakking asses up here!”

The three Sixes were up at her side as half the opposing Centurions lay dead, and the red-stripe Centurions held back only because they could fire over all heads. One of the red-stripes was grazed and one of the Sixes went down before they got past.

Kara gritted her teeth as they rounded the corner and found another squadron. A bullet found her left temple, leaving a burn mark as it shot past her head. She felt the pulsing power of her weapon as she aimed at the big silver targets holding the hall just a few feet off. They were not going to fail yet.

More of the old-type Centurions fell, and Kara and Sam’s team pressed forward into another hallway.

*******

“Kara, Sam, where are you?” Lee demanded into his radio, as they found their first dead end and started tracking back, frustrated beyond words.

There wasn’t an answer. Lee had no idea where he was, and he could hear enemy Centurions on their way. “Sam!” he yelled. “Kara!”

He heard nothing, and he frantically flicked his channel, wondering if he’d missed something. Their pilots weren’t faring well, and two had already fallen. Lee’s heart lurched as he hoped that Kara hadn’t been ambushed.  
_  
“Sam says section G,”_ Kara’s tight voice came over the radio._ “Frak, Lee, we’re in a firefight!”  
_  
“Where the frak are _we_?” Lee demanded off-radio, looking for any signs.

“Section E, maybe?” Athena answered, eyes wide.

“Let’s go back and take a right,” Lee ordered, waving them on. They were so close.

A Five was waiting for them at the crossroads. Lee hoped to all the gods he didn’t believe in that this was a good sign, as Helo and Athena sent the Cylon flying to the floor with a dozen bullets in his chest, his gun lying useless beside him.

*******

A path of dead Centurions behind them, Kara saw nothing up ahead, and she and Sam started moving faster. They’d lost a Two in the last round, and the wounded red-stripe, but they were still making progress.

She heard the noise of something ahead, had her gun raised and finger itching at the trigger, when suddenly around the corner came another form.

Boomer.

“Wait!” she cried before anyone had a chance to fire.

Hera was in Boomer’s arms, clinging around the Eight’s neck.

“Don’t fire!” Sam confirmed a second later, his hand up.

Boomer stood for a second, hesitant, then came walking forward. Sam remembered the mission before Kara, stepping in to take Hera in his arms. Kara felt frozen for a second, her mind trying to focus on what next.

“Tell the Old Man I owe him one,” Boomer said with a face hardened to the inevitable.

“You know what you did, though,” Kara said, as Sam just stood holding Hera and looking at Boomer.

“We all make our choices, and today, I made mine,” Boomer said, and looked at Kara. For a moment her eyes were clear, and Kara recognized the Sharon who had been her friend before Athena was even on the horizon. “I think it’s my last one,” Boomer said, a little more quietly.

“Don’t give up yet,” Sam said then, almost fiercely frustrated as he reached out his hand.

He was right, now wasn’t the time. Kara didn’t know what they were going to do, but Boomer’s face was hardly any less confused. She took Sam’s hand anyways.

“Guard her,” Sam ordered the surviving Two, then handed off Hera to one of the Sixes. He glanced to Kara. “Now to the Raptor, we need to find Lee’s group.”

“That’s the plan,” Kara said, nodding, as Boomer walked past her, and they all started walking again. She darted a few steps forward with Sam, still keeping eyes and ears open.

“You didn’t think we should have killed her, did you?” Sam suddenly asked, looking to her.

Kara’s brow was furrowed but she shook her head. “Not yet. There’s a lot more here than what she did to Karl and Sharon, and she’s not the only one in this kind of position.”

“You don’t even know half,” Sam said under his breath.

But before Kara could say anything, shots suddenly rang out ahead, and she had to duck down and swear, finger full on the trigger again.

*******

Lee heard the sound of gunshots ahead of them.

“It’s them!” Helo shouted, running ahead.

Lee didn’t even have time to think it might be an ambush before he and Athena were following, and a red-stripe overtook them before they could tell which corridor the noise was coming from.

“That’s Kara’s voice I hear,” Athena said right next to him, inhaling sharply.

Lee couldn’t hear, but he moved faster anyways, weaving in and out of these curving halls. He had a feeling that the denouement was coming upon them, and maybe coming too fast.

*******

The enemy Centurions had started attacking Galactica, and some more of the ship’s troops had been driven back towards the Colony. Ellen, hand in the slippery fluid, felt the Hybrid’s vision like electricity through her system. She saw Gaius Baltar and Caprica Six, guns blazing, running backwards as the old-type Cylons chased them down into the depths of the Colony itself

Ellen wanted to see CIC, not least so that Saul would stop pacing back and forth, but the Hybrid continued to focus on Baltar and Caprica. Thinking of Leoben, Ellen had to wonder why, and something teased at her, something that the Hybrid was trying to imply.

She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it sent chills down her body.

*******

Laura Roslin knew all too well how the Cylons were attacking Galactica, as blood oozed around her, and explosion-blackened wounds filled her nostrils with the scent of death.

Her head spinning with the carnage as well as her dying body, she stepped back, trying to catch her breath.

She found it only moments before losing it again, as the environment changed, as her bloody coat was replaced with one of her old formal dresses, as Galactica vanished and she stood in the middle of Kobol. The streets were empty and she stood before the Opera House.

It wasn’t just a flash. Lost in the dream, she stepped forward, up the steps and towards it. Could she have known, she was leaving the infirmary far behind her.

*******

“What took you so long?” Sam heard Kara demand as they all but backed up into Lee’s team, a group of the enemy organized and pushing against both groups.

“Well I didn’t stop for coffee,” Lee quipped at her as they backed around the corner.

In the chaos, the groups were blending into a big mess, and the red-stripes were striking back just as Sam heard Athena’s cry of sudden joy.

Glancing back, he saw the Six hand over Hera into her desperate mother’s arms, and Helo all but crumpled them both to his chest.

“How do we get back to the Raptor from here?” Sam asked Lee, who was holding ready by his side, gun up.

“You’re the man with the directions, I was going to ask you,” Lee said, eyebrows high.

“Well, where’d you park it?” Sam asked, dry in the confusion.

Lee laughed at the insanity, the sound rising above the din of battle.

They both turned their heads on hearing Athena’s cry of hatred.

Looking back, Sam saw Athena’s gun raised, and saw Kara step between her and Boomer. Frak, he’d forgotten.

“Wait!” Kara ordered, pushing Boomer back and giving Athena a stare as wild as the mother’s own. “She brought us Hera, she’s the only reason we’ve succeeded for now.”

“And how long before she fraks us over again?” Athena demanded. “She knew that this was her last chance; we can’t let her live.”

Sam heard the gunshots fade beyond them, and he snapped his aim back to the corner they’d just turned around. There was nothing.

“Frak it, we do not have time for this!” Kara snapped.

“She’s right, Sharon,” Helo broke in. “It can wait. We’ve got them both, we need to get out.”

“This isn’t over,” Athena swore.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, moving back to them. “We’ve got to move. Lee, where’d you break in from?”

“Section A2 on the plan,” Lee said, moving to hold up the rear with Helo as they reassembled the group.

Sam knew how to get there, but to make it with the best possibility of defense, they’d have to avoid the corridors and plunge straight into the Colony’s heart. It was a good thing they’d brought C4 in their utility vests.

*******

“Galen, get to the Hybrid, now,” ordered Ellen suddenly from on the baseship. “Something’s happening.”

“Shit!” Galen said, but ran off.

“What is it?” Saul asked, his attention at last diverted from the radio communication.

“I don’t know,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “But all she will show me is Roslin and Baltar and Caprica Six, of all people. And Roslin is running through the Colony after the Cylons who chased some of our people.”

“What the hell is she thinking?” Saul growled, brow creased.

Ellen shook her head, biting her lip. The Hybrid’s sight was jerky, clipped, images flashing by almost too fast to see. Her emotion flew high, and it was running through Ellen now the more she stayed connected. This must be what Sam had always talked about back in the beginning, what Leoben had held onto. Something beyond the bare mission was holding her mind enthralled.

*******

They’d broken through the first door, and the second, running through now-empty living halls on the Colony as fast as they could. A random enemy Centurion had caught them off guard, killing two marines and a Six and a red-stripe before they brought it down.

Sam gritted his teeth and they all moved on, the next door unlocked as they were almost past the heart of the Colony.

Suddenly there were screams at the back of the group. He whirled around, Kara at his side again, and saw human-form Cylons.

A Five slammed Lee Adama to the side, a Four grabbed Helo, and Cavil himself knocked down Athena. Guns were raised, but there was nowhere safe to shoot, not when Cavil grabbed Hera and pulled her to him, the little girl starting to wail. Kara had her gun trained on the Four holding Helo, and she swore as the Five joined him, Lee lying unconscious behind.

“There are more of us coming,” Cavil spat at them, as all guns had to drop. “And I’m bringing her down with me if you try to end it that way.”

The utter hatred and rage on his face drove all thoughts of leadership out of Sam’s mind. Fury filled him, and worry for Hera, and he stepped forward.

“John,” he said, voice loud and clipped.

“Father Sam?” Cavil said, sardonically surprised as he registered his presence. “Why, my Boomer told me that you were in a coma, but then, maybe her flip-flop of loyalty was already falling back down on your side.”

Boomer hissed from where she stood by the Two that guarded her, but Sam kept moving forward. “What’s the point, John?” he demanded. “What’s the frakking point at this stage?”

“She’s the key to getting resurrection back,” Cavil said, giving him a sharp look. “Something that you helped take away from us, your supposedly beloved children. And I’ve sworn, I’m going to live forever until I can find away to escape this wretched flesh and bone once and for all.”

Sam stood, anger for all the deaths that Cavil had caused clouding his vision, and yet he could still see him. And what he saw was that Cavil meant every word he said. He’d forsaken humanity like a snake sheds old skin.

Somewhere in him, Sam found all the will and talent that he’d gained, the former from recovering his Cylon memory, the latter from his intense introduction to life as a human on the run. And as the last jolt, he thought of Kara and knew what she would do—he raised his gun in an instant, as his finger was on the trigger before second thoughts happened.

The bullet hit Cavil straight in the forehead and he flew back, the gun held to Hera’s neck going flying. He didn’t even get to have last words. Hera whimpered as she stumbled to her feet, terrified still.

“Is that it?” Sam demanded, turning to the Five, the Four, who just stood stunned.

“Wait—” the Four said, releasing Helo, who ran forward to where Athena lay as Kara moved to Lee’s side.

“What are we doing?” the Five demanded of him.

“Do you want to die for good?” the Four shot at him, dropping his gun and looking at Sam with dark conflicted eyes. “Don’t kill us yet, please—”

“Sir?” asked one of the marines, as everyone had their guns up again.

“No one dies yet,” Sam said, his anger fading, and there was too much going on for him to understand. “Guard them like Boomer, we need to get back to the ship before the other Cylons realize that they don’t need to hold back on anyone. Are there more of you?”

“I can contact them,” the Four said, still looking straight at Sam. “We don’t know what we want, but survival’s probably first on the list.”

“We’re letting them live after what they did to all of us?” a Six asked Sam, sounding almost outraged.

“Everyone lives for now,” Sam said almost absently, frowning as he turned his attention to the next crisis. Athena had already come to, and Helo was helping her to her feet. Sam saw Kara by Lee, though, and ran over, worry gripping his heart.

“His head’s bleeding,” Kara said sharply as Sam knelt by her side. Her hands gripped Lee’s head, trembling as she pressed against the blood that was dripping over her hand. “And I didn’t even think to pack a frakking medkit.”

“He’ll be fine, we’ve just got to get him back,” Sam assured her and himself at once. He looked back at the group. “Someone get me something that will work as a bandage, now!”

Someone ripped Cavil’s shirt off, and as Sam helped Kara get him up and supported, they wrapped the fabric tightly around Lee’s head.

“Hera!” Athena gasped, and Sam suddenly saw her looking around as she sat up in Helo's arms. “Where’s Hera?”

“Frak,” Kara swore, as Lee slumped against her.

“She didn’t go past here,” said one of the marines on the side where Cavil had entered.

Sam’s hand flew to his head, as if it almost hurt with all the mayhem. He heard one of the Fours contacting the other Fours and Fives; he heard sounds of an airbattle still going on across one of the marines radios. But what mattered was still Hera. “Run. Run after her. Everyone. We don’t know how far she got ahead.” He turned back to Kara, where Lee was starting to moan.

“We’ve got to move,” Kara insisted.

“I know, I got it,” Sam said, scooping his arm under Lee’s limp one and marching forward with quick steps. “We can do this, Kara.”

Again the mission was frantic, so much so that Sam didn’t notice something tugging at the back of his mind.

*******

Laura Roslin was running through the Opera House, and this time she could hear the murmur of an audience just out of reach, and fragments of a song too faint for her to hear properly. The vision hadn’t been this clear before.

She heard a sound ahead that she knew was Hera’s voice. She blinked, and suddenly, gasping, realized that she was in the Colony.

But then, almost out of sight, she saw a little dress and dark curls. With all the strength she had left, Laura Roslin continued to run.

*******  
_  
“She’s repeating the words,”_ Galen’s voice came in on the radio, awed. _“The Hybrid’s saying the words to Sam’s song.”  
_  
“This is it,” breathed out Ellen, floating on the clouding intensity of the Hybrid’s visions as they burned before her eyes. Baltar and Caprica, finishing the last Cylon off just as they stepped backwards towards open doors. “She’s running, Hera is running because Cavil frightened her.” And she was running the wrong way, unconsciously heading towards Galactica, passing by Baltar and Caprica and almost headed towards Roslin. But Roslin had seen her just as she turned, and now she was running back, running towards where Athena and all the rest were charging after her.

Ellen’s breath caught in her throat, heart pounding, as suddenly what she had thought to plan seemed nothing compared to all this. Destiny, they had all said. They weren’t wrong.

Hera was twisting her path again, just as her mother had caught sight of her. She took a sharp right as Laura and Athena stopped and saw each other’s paths. And Hera was running towards the room with the open doors where Baltar and Caprica paused to catch their breath and direction.

*******

“Hera!” screamed Athena, running faster as she saw her daughter dart around another corner, feet pattering swifter than seemed possible.

Tory didn’t know why she was running, gun still in hand, on the other side of Boomer and her guard. She didn’t know why she kept looking back to make sure that Sam was still there, helping Kara carry Lee along. But her heart was pounding hard and fast, and even though some part of her was telling her that her life was hanging in the balance because of her confession, she felt alive.

She couldn’t even be bitter for being dragged along. There was meaning out there, somewhere, and they were chasing it. She wanted to be there to see the end, if nothing else.

They turned another corner in the Colony, and she heard Athena gasp as there was the president. There was Laura Roslin, eyes almost crazed. Tory barely had time to recognize her as they all looked to the left where Hera had run.

And there she was, just up ahead. Not alone. Even so far beyond, Tory knew that white-blonde head as Caprica Six’s, and she could definitely recognize Gaius Baltar. They weren’t paying attention, picking up Hera and walking away.

“Wait!” Athena’s voice rang out.

But they didn’t hear. They walked through the tall doors ahead, and a white light suddenly flashed and the doors closed.

Athena screamed.

Tory felt a shiver run through her bones that wasn’t despair.

*******

“I can walk, you two,” Lee murmured, struggling to find his own footing.

Kara couldn’t explain how much her heart seemed to be whole and strong again on hearing that, even as she almost snapped at him. “Lee, just accept the help, there’s a lot going on and—”

Athena’s scream rang out loud enough that they all stopped in their tracks.

“What is it?” asked Lee, groggy but fully conscious.

“The temple,” breathed out Sam, awe in his voice as he stared ahead.

Kara’s eyes flitted up to see two tall doors shut, and Athena slamming her hands on them, desperate, Helo right by her side.

They hurried up to the rest of the group.

“Baltar and Caprica went in, and the doors shut automatically,” Tory said, turning to look at Sam, the only one who seemed to not be in shock.

Sam’s whole body seemed to be alight with excitement, Kara could see. Not fear. Kara didn’t know why.

“It’s like the vision,” Roslin said, her breathing heavy as she leaned against a wall.

“Visions?” Sam asked her, urgently.

They all stood in the hallway, looking at Roslin. “Athena and I,” she said. “And Caprica Six. We run through an Opera House in our dreams, chasing Hera, and in the end she is picked up by Caprica and Baltar and taken into the auditorium where the light is white. The door closes behind them, and we are left outside. It led us here.”

Athena finally turned from the door, pained worry in her eyes. “It’s true, Sam.”

“This is the temple,” Sam said, pointing towards the doors. “It’s the sanctum of the Colony. It’s what was supposed to make it a home, not just a base. I would come here to meditate, but I don’t know if anyone else ever did. It was where my angel came to me once.” He glanced back at Kara, but she wasn’t sure if anyone noticed.

“Then you can open the doors?” Helo asked frantically, stepping towards Sam.

Sam swallowed, looking at the doors, shaking his head. “I—I don’t know why they closed,” he said, voice cracking a little. “They’re supposed to be always open. Only the Hybrid could close them, unless—”

Kara didn’t have time to think, she only felt a sudden urge to get closer. “Tory, hold him,” she murmured, handing Lee off to the nearest person.

“Kara?” she heard Lee call after her.

But she couldn’t see any of them. From an infinitesimal crack between the doors, a piercing light was flying straight into her eyes, a light that had led her to the other side once, and a light that felt like home in this moment. Breathing in sharply, she heard the thundering rhythm of Sam’s song in the back of her head.

They all parted before her, no one said a word. Her hand came up, trembling a little in all of it, and her palm rested on the crack between the doors. The chords of the song rang out strong in her head.

The doors swung open in a flash.

The white light flooded over her.

Kara Thrace walked into the Colony’s temple.

*******  
_  
“The Hybrid just screamed, but I can’t tell if it’s good or bad,”_ Galen’s report came through.

Ellen stood motionless, blinded by the white light she’d just seen. “It was in ecstasy,” she whispered.

“Should I contact Adama?” Saul asked, worried.

Ellen nodded. “The Hybrid is telling the raiders to all stop. Adama should too. Everyone needs to stop.” She could still hardly breathe.

“It’s more than finding Hera, isn’t it?” Saul said, stepping closer.

“Put your hand in and see,” Ellen said, voice trembling. “Saul, this is _it_.”

*******

When the doors opened for Kara, no one moved a muscle. She walked in, and the doors didn’t close behind her, and no one moved a muscle. They just stood and saw her disappear into the white light, and then watched the white light fade back into the walls where it had come from.

Sam knew that none of this was normal.

“Do we go in?” Athena asked, barely above a whisper as she and Helo clung to each other.

“The vision always ended here,” Roslin said, not even able to stand up straight.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, something moving him—and then suddenly he heard it. The notes, trickling out from the temple (Opera House?), finding patterns, rhythm beating faster, louder, building into chords and melodies.

“That’s it,” said Tory suddenly.

“The song?” Roslin asked. “This is the song?”

Sam turned to her, astonished. “You can hear it?”

“I can hear it too,” said Helo with a slight frown.

“We can all hear it,” one of the Sixes said quietly.

And still no one moved. But as the familiar tune called to Sam, pulling him forward, he knew what he had to say. “We all need to go in.”

He swallowed and walked forward. Behind him came humans and Cylons, as the song throbbed through their very veins and brought everything to this moment.


	8. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 8

**Chapter 8** \- _They will join the promised land gathered on the wings of an angel, not an end but a beginning_

Kara stood in the Opera House that was part of the Cylon Colony, and as the light faded and her eyes saw the room where she was standing, she felt a smile cross her face. A smile untainted by anything in the past, just the perfect sense of rightness that was now.

The room was round, large, hollows in the outer walls holding shapes of the thirteen signs of the constellations of the colonies. The center of the room was marked by a circular design on the floor; not in color, but Kara knew her mandala. A single light shone down into the center, but the very walls glowed.

Baltar and Caprica stood in the center, Hera with them. They turned and saw Kara.

“Kara?” Baltar asked, shocked, Hera curled in his arms.

“This is it,” she said, coming towards them, grin still wide on her face. “This is what was supposed to happen.”

“But what _has_ happened?” Caprica asked, confusion reigning on her face.

Kara didn’t know what to say—she just didn’t know. But she felt. And it made her want to cry, or laugh, or neither, because she could feel herself being right where she needed to be. Before she could explain her lack of words, though, she didn’t have to.

“All the pieces are coming together.”

All three of them whipped around to see the woman in a red dress and the man in the pinstriped suit. Not quite Baltar and Six, but—

“You!” Baltar and Caprica and Kara gasped at once, Kara not knowing why, some unconscious part of her memory making her speak. And then, Baltar and Caprica together again, “You see them?”

“She does,” said another voice from behind them, and when Kara turned, it was not-Leoben again. He walked around them, serene satisfaction on his face, until he finally stood next to the other not-quite-persons. “And Kara was right, as she should be. This is it.”

“What is?” asked Caprica as Baltar stood awed into silence.

“What pieces?” Kara asked, finally finding words.

“They come,” said not-Leoben, nodding.

Turning to the left, Kara saw the doors she’d just come through. Sam, Karl, Athena, Roslin, Tory, Lee, Boomer, and all the other Cylons and marines left to them.

“God’s plan is finally brought to fruition,” the not-Six said warmly.

“The time has been long, but you are finally coming to your end,” the not-Baltar continued.

The words resonated, and Kara jerked to attention to demand. “What end?”

“Where you can finally give the past only the attention it deserves, and live in peace as one,” said not-Leoben with another gentle smile. “Humans, Cylons, with one rule and one society.”

“If we’d given you any of the answers before, you would just resort to the cycle again, which would defeat the entire point of all this,” not-Six further explained matter-of-factly.

“Hatred, rebellion, genocide, war, chases, and so on,” not-Baltar intoned. “No progress whatsoever.”

“Until you,” not-Six said with a broad smile.

“Thanks to Kara,” not-Leoben said with a special look for her.

“Among others,” not-Baltar added. “But yes. Finding Earth was the last push you needed.”

Kara felt as if she was floundering, limbs ready to thrash out and find something to grab onto, and yet she didn’t have any questions. Why they were here, what they meant, it all matched a wild intuition she didn’t know she had. “And now what?” she asked quietly.

Beyond her, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the rest of the group standing stock-still, watching with wide eyes.

“Now you go to your journey’s end to reap your reward,” not-Baltar said smoothly.

And then, everyone seemed to blink, and they were all gone. The room had only real persons in it again.

Kara felt shaken, as if she was suddenly unsure.

“Was that...?” Sam asked, stepping forward, but as if he didn’t know how to end his question.

“Get Adama on the line,” Kara said, a whisper at first as she found her voice. “It’s all going down now.”

Suddenly the room around them shook, all of them knocked off their feet and almost careening into each other.

“What the frak?” said half a dozen voices, but Kara felt it in her bones, this was the start of the end.

“An accidental firing of nukes!” reported one of the marines, radio in hand. “We’ve been hit, and we’re falling into the singularity. There’s only a couple minutes.”

“They need to jump back to the fleet, then, now,” Sam said, reaching for the radio as he barely kept to his feet.

“Wait, what about us?” Tory asked quickly, stopping his hand.

Kara shook her head, stepping closer. “There’s no time to get back to the ships, they need to go while they still have it.” She could see Helo and Athena holding Hera, saw their arms tighten at this.

“Which means we have to jump the Colony,” Sam said, eyes wide as they met Kara’s.

“What?” she asked.

“The jump drive on the Colony,” Sam said, reaching for her hand. “It’s closer than the ship. We can make it, if you know the coordinates.”

“Does that matter at this point?” Kara asked, as Sam had already started moving, and she made to follow. She called back, as Sam tossed the radio to Helo. “Tell the ships to jump! We’re not doomed yet!”

She found herself running at top speeds, past metal corpses and bullet shells, past corridor after corridor. Somewhere along the way her hand found Sam’s and gripped it, adrenaline surging through all of her as well as a fiery sense of purpose. Kara Thrace would lead humanity to its end, and that was _now_.

Breathing heavily, barely able to think, they finally found the control room, and Sam slammed the door open. The Colony was shaking, groaning, and they could barely stand up.

“Jump drive, here,” he said, breathless, pointing towards the control panel.

The radio on the communications panel buzzed._ “Galactica and the baseship jumping out, and may all the gods be with you.”_

It was a strange final wish, and Kara half-laughed as she looked at the keyboard in front of her. It shook as the Colony fell towards the singularity. She didn’t know what to input. All the coordinates had left her head.

“We only have a few seconds by now,” Sam said, urgently, his hand on her shoulder. “Kara—”

Her moment of clarity hit like a stone. “It’s the song, Sam,” she said, with another laugh. Her fingers punched in the calculations that they’d worked out so long ago, trying to find where Hera would be. They’d got the purpose all wrong, but not the facts. “It’s coordinates for us.”

Somewhere around them, dozens of people had their lives in her hands, and they shivered one last time as her fingers tapped out the last numbers. Grabbing the jump key, slamming it in, it was with confidence she couldn’t fully grasp that she turned it and cried, “Jump!”

A single contraction, and then Kara breathed out. The shaking had stopped.

Sam’s hand still rested on her shoulder, and their heavy breathing was the only sound for almost a minute. Then, quietly:

“Where did you bring us, Kara?” Sam asked.

*******

Ellen and Saul flew over to Galactica as soon as they were back to the fleet, worried sick.

“They didn’t jump here,” Adama reported as they arrived in the hangar, face white.

“They could have gone somewhere else,” Saul said, shaking his head disbelievingly.

“This can’t end like this,” Ellen protested, feeling the Hybrid’s emotions still running through her. They had jumped away with confidence.  
_  
“Admiral, Admiral, sir!”_ Hoshi’s voice cried through his radio._ “It’s a Raptor! It’s the Raptor from the Colony. The Colony survived! I’m patching them through shipwide.”_

“Oh thank God,” Ellen said, hand flying to her mouth as she breathed out.  
_  
“Admiral?” _Kara’s voice came in next, echoing around the battered Galactica whose back had been broken in this last jump.

“We’re all safe here,” Adama said, a relieved smile playing across his craggy face.  
_  
“So are we,” _Kara answered._ “And sir—we found something. The song that made us all find the Colony, it led us to the place where we were supposed to meet. And it’s the coordinates to a habitable world.”  
_  
Her voice trembled with excitement, and all three of them glanced at each other in surprise.  
_  
“It’s the world where we’re supposed to be.”  
_  
“What do you mean?” Adama asked over the radio.  
_  
“Everyone needs to jump here and see, sir. And there’s so much, so much that needs to be told. Just—this is everything we were hoping for.”  
_  
The radio transmission ended. Adama stood for a second, not moving or speaking.

Ellen almost spoke, saying that she felt this was all right, knew it.

Then Adama swallowed. “Prepare to abandon ship and go to the coordinates Kara provided,” he said through his radio up to CIC. Then to Saul and Ellen, “This is Kara.”

“Oh, we know,” Saul said, eyebrows rising.

And Ellen smiled. This was better than everything she had planned.

*******

There were too many issues on the agenda for anything to be achieved all at once.

The wounded were brought to Cottle. Some died, others lived, the numbers were counted and words were spoken over the dead. Roslin gave her last breath on the Colony, a smile on her face, the word ‘Earth’ on her lips. No one even thought it bitter. Everyone left Adama alone with her for a while, and hours later when he came out, a mask had gone over his face but he was ready to consider everything else. Preparation had done what it could for this moment, and life had to go on.

Some of the Fours and Fives that had joined Cavil stood now under the flag of surrender, guarded by the alliance of humans and rebel Cylons. With them was Boomer, and then Tory was added, as Sam finally made it clear what had happened. Chief could barely be restrained, and Athena hadn’t been allowed near Boomer since the battle. The fleet itself would have liked to execute them all, and the rebel Cylons had almost written off the Fours and Fives as worthless already.

But Kara had come to herself in that Opera House confrontation and she knew exactly what all the words meant. Like Sam had said before, both sides had forgiven so much, they couldn’t quickly judge anymore. That had to be on hold.

“Until when?” Adama asked, as all the leaders stood in the Colony’s temple, and the full story had been relayed.

“While you got here, we sent the Raptor to look at the planet below us,” Kara said. “It’s the perfect climate, and almost uninhabited. A few primitive human-looking lifeforms, astronomical as the odds for that are. But that’s it. It’s our new home, the one you said we’d find. The one that I was supposed to lead us to. Not Earth after all.”

Her face was bright, smiling, confident. Adama’s wasn’t yet.

“How can we settle here?” he asked.

“There’s no tilium anywhere,” Baltar said. “No obvious power sources of any kind, other than sun, water, wood.”

“We’d have to cut back on everything, ration our remaining power,” Lee said, leaning on the desk with a bandage around his head. “But after basic calculations, we think it’s possible.”

“It has to be,” Sam said, nodding.

“So we return to our roots?” Adama questioned, skeptically.

“What choice do we have?” shrugged Lee.

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Baltar confirmed.

“We’re breaking the cycle,” Kara murmured. “Once and for all. That was what all this was for, remember?”

Sam was the only one who nodded, but the words sunk into everyone’s thoughts. They'd met in the Opera House that symbolized all that had almost worked and yet failed on Kobol—even at its simplest meaning, everyone knew that they didn't want to follow that world's path.

Hours later they had gathered together all the numbers, and everything was listed out. The ships would be landed on the planet, taken apart, used as far as they could for safe dwellings and tools. All engines and power supplies would be put first and foremost to use in keeping people alive. Medicine and its technologies was the priority for as long as it would last.

Food, as well. Scavenging would be the call, and cultivation eventually. They had enough algae for another year, but it could be preserved. First crops were likely to fail, and they’d need the backup.

And finally, the people.

By the time a full day and a half had passed, the news had spread all around the fleet. After the revelation only days before about the Final Five, it made sense that there was no period of shock and surprise. They were all weary of this journey and its surprises, and when they were told that it had been for a purpose, and that it was at its end—the majority leapt for it.

“They don’t even seem too concerned that there may only have been one god,” Ellen commented with an eyebrow lifted high in surprise.

Saul snorted. “As if that really matters.”

Ellen eyed him, but objection would be difficult as well as pointless.

Lee and Sonja had done more good than they thought. Apart from a tiny disgruntled group, the people wanted to throw their hands up and declare the Cylons just like everyone else. At least, as long as they weren’t given carte blanche. After it was explained that the Cylons would get the same judgmental treatment as the rest of humanity, that was it.

So it was back again to the question of traitors and murderers and genocide.

Sam sat silently at that meeting, swallowing hard.

“Can we let them fester in our new society like this?” Lee asked, straightforward. “There are only a few of us left, how can we risk that?”

“Lee, wait,” Kara said, face conflicted but hand going up.

“It sounds like elitism,” murmured the leader of the Twos, not Leoben but one who now called himself Morgan.

Lee opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“We’re going to have to live with imperfections anyway,” Sam finally said, slowly. “Maybe they can answer for what they’ve done by doing better. And maybe they will change.”

“If they don’t?” Adama asked, as hesitant as his son.

“Then we’ll have another decision to face,” Sam said. “But then. It doesn’t have to be all now.”

“Everyone deserves a shot at redemption,” Ellen said, firm and quiet.

“We still have guards and security forces, Admiral,” Kara said a second later.

And that was the final straw.

Those who had lost loved ones were bitter, some furious, but all those held in custody were kept safe from them for long enough for settlement to start.

It all happened quickly, finding the most habitable and uninhabited part of the world, setting the groundwork for a civilization that would not be too sparse or too crowded. Within a week, ships had landed and were stripped, all except Galactica which could not, and the baseship which was sent away with the Centurions.

“I spoke to the Hybrid again,” Kara said quietly as she and Sam ate together. “She mentioned a promised land this time, and something about arriving on the wings of an angel.”

“Yours,” Sam deduced with a nod of acceptance.

Kara gave him an odd look. “I don’t have wings, Sam.”

He paused from his chewing. “True.”

“I was wondering if maybe they were ours,” she said, and nodded her head towards his tattoo.

Sam looked at her for a second, thinking, waiting. In the end, he just answered quietly, “We did bring them all here together.” Kara had brought it up, but she wasn’t trying to have that discussion. Not yet.

“Of course, I have a bone to pick about the ‘promised land’ part,” Kara continued in her usual tone, sliding past any and all other implications, knowing Sam would let her.

Their society had figured out that aspect just as quickly as Kara, but the prospect of grueling work didn’t overwhelm everything that said that this was a fresh start. As fresh as their society would ever get, and yet as fresh as they deserved. It had been a long path, but being here, on a world where the sun shone bright and warm—it was worth it. Even the biggest doubters were starting to admit that some of it was worth it.

Families were finally settling down, and leaders voted in. Adama wasn’t one of the latter, but Lee was. Saul and Helo were not, but to everyone’s surprise Ishay and Sonja were.

“I’m surprised you didn’t push me towards anything,” Saul told Ellen one night, as they sat and looked out at the constellations that had once signified home.

“We fulfilled our role long ago,” Ellen said quietly, her hand stroking his leg slowly. “We didn’t know, not all of us, but the Cylons were our destiny. Even with John’s interference, we brought them to where they needed to be to fulfill their own.” She smiled up at the heavens, pleased that the urge to scheme no longer plagued her.

“Mm, retirement,” Saul murmured.

Ellen let him hold onto his illusion for that night at least, when the stars sparkled brightly above a nonradioactive world. He knew as well as she that tomorrow would give them no time for such idle thoughts. People were still scrambling for what they needed for survival. No time for slacking, even on this gorgeous new world.

*******

Kara found herself setting up Boomer in her new place. She also found herself saying words that weren’t quite forgiveness, because something in Helo and Athena would never be exactly the same again even if Kara was the only one who noticed. But it wasn’t the first time that Boomer had been like this, as she told Kara. Caprica might be settling with Baltar (another thankful non-leader), but Boomer told Kara she’d find someone else. She’d helped things turn out right, helped the Opera House destiny come true; it was a pathetic kind of purpose, but she’d been longing for anything, and it was _something_.

Kara nodded as Boomer went to wearily pay her penance, the last farewell. Leoben, the one she’d known, had already offered his quiet words before his own final departure; she’d learned too much to hate him, but she had no more farewell than he did, words of regret and hope almost mumbling out. She was Kara Thrace, and she had never needed him, and he did not need her. It felt right enough when he left. Departures were feeling right all around.

She walked the fields of this new planet, golden-green in the sun. Their observations from the ships before landing had decided from the star location that there would be two months of summer before true harvest. Before they’d have to start the back-breaking work of preparing fields for winter. The warm air soothed her skin, filled her lungs with freshness.

As she passed near the edge of the main settlement, she saw Sam walking out, steps long and weary. He had come from his farewell to Tory, for perhaps forever; Kara remembered seeing his face when he relayed the horrific deed, and hoped that Tory knew how lucky she was that Sam could restrain himself.

“Dirty work’s done,” Kara said, hand shoved deep in her pockets as Sam approached.

“Too much of it,” Sam sighed, standing in the tall grass with her.

A moment of silence hung as the effect of the past days washed over them, everything finally adhering to one big picture as they stood alone, together. They’d bid farewell so many times, maybe each other was all they had left. Kara didn’t feel it as a mistake, but catching Sam’s eyes in the near-setting sun, she couldn’t tell if he would agree. “Did Tory get forgiveness in the end?” she asked.

“What is forgiveness?” Sam asked back, quiet and without emotion. “Will what she did affect me? Yes.” He let the word hang, and there was still a remnant of pain in his voice. “But will it drive my actions? Hopefully not now. If she wants, her future actions may drown out her past.”

Kara nodded. Forgiveness had a connotation of full erasure, but they all knew better. “You never told me about her, did you, Sam?” she asked then, forgiveness as an idea still flitting about her mind.

Sam’s eyes met hers, stricken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—don’t ever want to keep secrets. I’m sorry. But would you have kept Tory alive long enough for this justice?”

His words were sincere, but the last ones made Kara laugh suddenly. “Why would _I_ kill her? She’s just Tory to me.”

A slight bewilderment marked Sam’s face before a sheepish grin wiped it all away. “I’m sorry,” he said, ducking his head a moment. “I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to dealing with family, even if they... A bit of a moron, that’s it.”

“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago,” Kara said quietly, smiling back up at him, remembering. After everything, she didn’t have to say that he was forgiven, because he was. They’d lived the reality of forgiveness, going from trial to trial, error to error, pain to pain. Forgetfulness didn’t follow each regret, just a working to make the balance even again. And they did it still. If Sam had lost his head and kept something from her, eventually there would be a hundred more shared truths that he would give and she would accept. That was forgiveness enough, more than enough.

Sam was still looking at her, almost with a relaxed smile but mostly just simple understanding of what she didn’t say. Brushing aside the pain of only moments before, she managed a grin and continued wryly, “Better an idiot than some kinds of smart when it comes to loyalty.”

It could have hit a lot closer to them both, but it wasn’t the time for bitterness for either of them.

But the faint smiles started to fade as the moments went on, as Kara felt the pull of everything and nothing. If she didn’t keep busy, she could feel it in her, telling her to pay attention and realize. Looking up at Sam, she wondered if he’d noticed. Neither of them had forgotten what had happened on Galactica, even if the ship was far out of reach with empty halls and a broken back.

“The Hybrid told me I would lead humanity to its end,” Kara said, a slight rise and fall of her eyebrows following as she realized how much less catastrophic it had turned out than her assumptions.

Sam gave her a curious look, eyes thoughtful. “When you say it like that, I can’t help but feel that I’m not sure I had a different purpose in all of this. Right now, I just feel like I’ve fulfilled something.”

“Destiny?” Kara offered with a quirk of humor in her lips. Sam shrugged, and she took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I feel satisfied here. More than I ever thought I could feel.”

“And so?” Sam asked.

Kara stared at him. There hadn’t been a moment for them to be close, not in weeks, even as they slept beneath the same blanket in the same peace. They’d been together—but Kara saw the tension in Sam’s face and the realization that even if their destinies had both been to work as a team, it was complementary but not the same. An involuntary grimace crossed Kara’s face as she realized that deep down, deeper than her bones, she could feel the same thing.

But she didn’t know what to answer.

“Destinies are changing,” said a soft voice to the side.

Kara turned her head, saw the face and body that had appeared at three important crossroads of her life now. “You never said who you were, if you’re not Leoben.”

“The answers will come soon enough,” not-Leoben said with a shrug, his simple form looking nonhuman even without any of the usual indicators.

Sam didn’t even look surprised as he stood there.

A shred of Kara’s peace left her, and her arms crossed over her chest. “Just so you know, that’s _not_ an answer.”

Not-Leoben gave her a strange smile that said he knew that very well. “You won’t need me to tell the answers soon, not when you’re home again.”

A thrilling shiver ran through Kara, recognition of something deeper than worldly ties and humanity in her. She swallowed, looking to Sam, who observed now with a bittersweet expression on his face as he waited for what was sure to come. “Home,” she said.

“Does it not sound right?” Not-Leoben asked, tipping his head towards her.

“So I came from the other side?” Kara asked for clarification.

“Have you not always felt that this universe was too small for you?” he asked back, diverting answers again.

Her brow creased, but she gave a quick short nod. Was there a Viper pilot who did not want the broad expanse of space, spreading on almost forever? And yet even that had not been enough for Kara, it never had been. She looked back to Sam for a second, remembered his explanations for her, needed to know something. “I was the first to become human, wasn’t I?”

Not-Leoben smiled, almost a secret smile. “You were,” he confirmed.

Kara couldn’t help but smile a little. “I made my own destiny, even though I didn’t remember,” she murmured. Sam’s soft gaze on her told her that he wouldn’t have expected anything else, even had he not been there so long ago for the decision itself. She almost shrugged, but nothing was decided yet.

“There were other times I felt at home,” she said to not-Leoben straightly. “Not just at the thought of—of the other side.”

He raised an eyebrow of genuine surprise.

Kara took her deep breath, and it seemed as if her life was laid in front of her, finally arranged in a pattern. She didn’t quite remember her old self, but she _felt_ it. “I didn’t change to become this,” she said, indicating her body. “But I found something new inside me. You said I had to let go of my mother, but you didn’t realize what you were saying. I had to let go of what she’d done, but not what she stood for. Family, something you probably didn’t notice,” she said, giving him a piercing look, “is infinite. And when the human universe felt too small, I found a place where I felt just the right size, and that was with family.”

Not-Leoben frowned. “I do not understand.”

Kara gave him a tight grin. “You can’t. But I did. And that love and forgiveness that broke the cycle, according to you? It’s still with me, and I don’t want to let it go.”

Not-Leoben nodded, brow still furrowed. “God is love,” he said, almost an objection.

“Not that kind of love,” Kara retorted, holding his gaze. For all that she could see kindred-ship in his eyes, beyond human, it wasn’t family. She had never said it before, but that was what drove her, almost more than destiny itself. But—but the destiny was still hers, and she wanted it. He had spoken of the other side and it still felt like the true home she’d desired. There was just one ingredient she would be lacking there, and she thought she knew one easy place to find it. “What happens to Sam?”

Sam seemed to jerk upright with surprise, as she saw out of the corner of her eye. He should have realized that they were both idiots about the families they’d chosen, made, maintained.

“For his services to this final cycle, he may be granted rebirth among us after his death,” not-Leoben said to Kara, hesitantly as if he wasn’t supposed to say it around Sam.

Kara breathed out slowly. It didn’t take much to imagine that working. “How long?”

“Time is relative,” not-Leoben said, vague in his movements.

Kara looked at the world around her, so small, and yet so full of enough family to last her for a literal eternity, if she just had time now to soak enough in. If Sam would be there to remind her after she went home. “I’m not going yet, then.”

Both men started, said, “What?” at the same time.

Kara shrugged. “I’m not going yet.”

“But you are more than this life,” not-Leoben said, frowning again.

“So, what, that means it’s worthless?” Kara laughed, almost offended. “I still don’t know exactly who you are, but I can feel what I am, and it doesn’t change the fact that I want more of this. Someday I’ll have enough, and the other side will still be there. I know it’s not according to your plan, maybe our plan; I can see it in your face. But plans change.”

The angel’s eyes held hers for what seemed like minutes, searching, pointed. It was the first time she’d looked back and felt that she had more knowledge relating to the situation than he did.

And after another moment, he nodded. “Then we will wait,” he said, almost lightly.

“Don’t hold back dinner for me, though,” Kara said with a wry grin.

Not-Leoben gave her one last look of surprise, maybe even awe, and then vanished into the air.

Kara breathed out, a shaky laugh of satisfaction and relief following.

“Did I just...?” Sam’s voice came to her ear, confused.

She turned and looked up at him. “Did you just hear angels negotiating your future? Yes, Sam, your destiny’s apparently not over yet.” She leaned a little closer, arms loosening across her chest.

“No, I meant the other part,” Sam said, still looking a little stunned.

It probably wasn’t the first time he’d underestimated just how much she cared about—everything—but when that had taken a backseat to following strange songs to epic destinies touching infinity and beyond, it was understandable. She took a few steps closer. “What, did you really expect that I’d follow the rules?” she asked in a low tone, feeling teasing again as she knew how her life was going to play out.

Finally he smiled broadly, eyes bright again. “I have a feeling that I’m going to be a bit clueless about all this for a while longer,” he admitted warmly, taking a step forward.

Kara reached for his waist, pulling him in, feeling the warmth of love that was humanity’s advantage here. “I’ll get back to you on that when I remember it all,” she said.

“We are the strangest two people I know,” Sam murmured with a final rise of his eyebrows.

Kara just chuckled and snaked her arms tightly around him, and he leaned down and kissed her as they stood together on Earth. Angels-to-be, but for now they were as humans relishing the joy to be found in the end that they’d brought humanity to.


	9. Waltzing With Destiny - Chapter 9

**Chapter 9** \- _Existence comes to a close, only to begin anew_

“I suppose New Tauron and all its derivatives are out of the question,” Gaius Baltar said dryly when they finally had a moment free of work and worry to discuss names.

“We never even considered that,” Sonja said, the only representative present of the Colonial/Cylon government of this world.

“Well, ‘Home’ just doesn’t have the same ring,” Baltar said, leaning back in his chair.

Sam sat, Kara comfortably on his lap with a glass of real alcohol. It wasn’t ambrosia, but it wasn’t algae-stilled either, so it deserved a different designation. The fruits of this world were sweet as well as intoxicating, when brewed properly.

“Well, I suppose ‘Kobol’ would be a bad omen, as would ‘Earth’,” Sonja continued, frowning.

“Call it by the oldest name, Terra,” Kara offered, tipping her glass in her direction.

“A mythological birthplace?” Baltar questioned sarcastically.

“We’re all myth now,” Kara countered, eyes dancing a little.

The discussion lasted only until it was time to get back to work, but Kara had said her piece. Sam wasn’t surprised to hear within a few days time that, indeed, ‘Terra’ this world would be.

“Does that mean we can’t call ourselves Colonials anymore?” Athena asked when Sam and Kara helped them assemble a more permanent dwelling for the Agathon family.

“Nope,” Kara said brightly, wiping her hands of the dust of labor.

“She’s right,” Helo said, pulling a hammer from the toolchest at Kara’s feet. “This isn’t exactly a colony. And if nothing else, it’s _Hera’s _homeworld.”

Sam sat with Hera in his lap and had an eye on the two orphans that Helo and Athena had taken under their wing. He didn’t know whether to envy all the children or pity them. They would be fighting for survival for generations yet, but the odds would be surmountable, and if all kept on as it had there would be unity. They would be the ones who defined Terrans.

“It’s a good homeworld,” Athena said with a pleased sigh, wiping sweat from her brow and not even caring that she left a dust streak behind.

“Remember, winter hasn’t come yet,” Kara warned. But her brief glance to Sam told her that she couldn’t quite disagree for them.

*******

After the sight he’d seen in the Colony’s temple, Lee had unconsciously assumed that something would happen with Kara. What, he hadn’t decided. But something. He didn’t expect that she’d put everything she had into making Terra work, and in making the still-tenuous peace stay in place, and in making a life that almost seemed like everyone else’s.

But he saw the looks that Kara sometimes gave Sam when they were among a group, and they weren’t dangerous but they were foreboding to Lee.

“We’ve finally got a house, and I might cook something,” Kara said to Lee after a couple weeks. There was a focused peace in her face, and he could see her remembering everything that they’d had together. “You should come; I haven’t seen nearly enough of you.”

Lee breathed in slowly and just like always, he knew what Kara was to him. “I’ll come,” he said nodding.

“Good,” she said, a wide smile on her face, and it was almost all he’d ever wanted.

“But Kara,” he said, and it wasn’t hasty, but he had to make it quick, “I’m not going to be the same.”

She looked confused, asked straightly, “What is it, Lee?”

“I’m going to have to stay here when you leave, whenever that is,” he said quietly.

Her mouth tightened, as if this was something she wasn’t ready for. “Lee...” she started, something like pain and regret in her voice.

Lee reached out and took her hand, stroking it softly. She relaxed a little, but the sharp emotion still marked her face. He swallowed the lump in his throat so he could say without breaking, “I learned some time ago that I couldn’t hold onto you.” No one could, he almost added, but they didn’t need to say it out loud. “And then I learned that I need—” He swallowed again, because he hated to say it, it didn’t feel right.

“You need something to hold onto,” she answered, looking up with regretful understanding in her eyes. “I know, Lee.”

She always had.

“So I’m going to try to let you just _be_, like I should,” said Lee, breathing out, trying to smile. “Because I do love you, Kara, more than even I ever thought sometimes.”

She smiled back at him, soft and sad, but she said, “I love you too, Lee, don’t forget that.”

Lee nodded. He knew. It was just different.

“Thank you,” she said finally, squeezing his hand.

“I’ll still come to your dinner,” he said, putting a lightness back in his voice and face. “I remember your cooking.”

She smiled again, wide and brighter. Then, quietly, “I’m not leaving before you find something to hold onto.”

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

Kara smiled one last time before stepping backwards and turning to walk away. Lee had said all he wanted to say, and didn’t wanted to take any of it back, and in that moment where he stood alone that was satisfaction enough.

He couldn’t just forget Kara, but he had meant what he said, and he didn’t think it was impossible to try. There was so much life out there to overwhelm him; maybe he could let it. And maybe soon, he’d really want to.

*******

Chief didn’t speak to her until the day that Athena saw her and didn’t even unconsciously reach for her sidearm. Boomer hung to the back, her miner’s uniform dusty and sweat-stained, but in a way that made her feel as if she was necessary. Necessary and disappearing into the crowd—it could have been a worse fate.

“Chief,” she commented as he walked past after Athena.

He paused, gave her a neutral look, and said “Boomer,” under his voice before walking on.

They didn’t speak again for weeks, weeks in which Boomer felt herself falling apart into meaningless pieces. None of this work would prove her any more loyal, any more sorry, any more forgivable. She was in a safe and neverchanging role, that was all.

She saw the day that Chief last visited Hot Dog and Nicky, but he didn’t speak to her then. Boomer just watched the emptiness on his face, and wasn’t surprised at the full separation that followed.

Boomer worked in the mines, but it wasn’t helping. She had always yearned for a purpose, but she had thought it would be something simple like a family. This last mission of the fleet had hinted that maybe there was something more. There wasn’t. Not for Boomer.

It broke her down into pieces before she realized how she wanted to put herself back together. A little over a month after settling on Terra, she emptied her day bag and took off her uniform and put on the heavy clothes that had been rationed to everyone for the eventual winter. Putting all her rations and tools into the day bag, she walked out of her housing.

Boomer stood on the edge of the main Terran settlement for a long time, watching the people pass by, feeling herself finally apart from them all. It was an empty sense of self, but it didn’t give her pain.

As the sun dipped towards the west, she caught the sight of someone out of the corner of her eye. And turning, there was Chief, also walking past the edge of the settlement.

She ran towards him, bag in hand. He had a pack on his back and his hands in his pockets, and he didn’t turn as she came up to him, breathing hard with her quick run. “Chief, where are you going?”

“Away,” he answered shortly, and still didn’t look at her.

She didn’t smile, just walked along with him.

“Sharon, there is nothing for us,” he said finally, one short glance tossed back at her. “You can’t earn my forgiveness.” And she saw in his face all the losses, some he couldn’t have helped, others he felt he caused. He too had to separate from people or fall apart.

“So what are you going to do, kill me?” she asked, waving her hand at him as she continued to walk, catching up so that she walked by his side.

He made a small growling noise.

“I’m serious,” she answered. “I’ve got nothing but the prospect of walking towards that horizon as long as I can hunt and scavenge well enough to keep myself alive. You weren’t going back either, obviously. So unless you want to kill me, I’m going to be right here, at your side.”

It was as honest as she’d been in a while, and yet he didn’t answer. He didn’t stop either, and he didn’t kill her.

Satisfied enough, Boomer walked with Chief off into the empty sunset. They had life in them yet, and they would keep it going a little longer.

*******

Tory wasn’t the only Terran who had murdered. The humans couldn’t even say it was a Cylon thing, if they had taken the time to bother making the distinction. It did seem not worth the effort to most of them; Cylon was slowly turning into a word that signified past enemy, nothing more.

And of the Terrans who had murdered, Tory wasn’t the only one whom history had not shined a kind light on.

She was all but an outcast nonetheless. Lee had her working with what passed for paperwork, and what might pass for it as long as they still had paper. It was talentless work, but it was necessary, and it didn’t put anyone in an uncomfortable situation.

Tory hated it. Sometimes she smiled to herself, because it was dull and pointless and would be outmoded in less than a year and she hated it. And she liked that. She was allowed to hate her work, and it was the best kind of hate she’d felt in over a year, the kind that was normal and right. If she hated her work for the usual reasons, it was normal enough to drown out bitterness. At least for a little.

Months later, as she still didn’t have memories, as she still hadn’t earned forgiveness from the people she almost wanted it from, it wasn’t quite sweet. Work done, she would walk to the nearby stream and sit with her feet on the edge of the bank, listening to the ripples and closing her eyes to feel the setting sun.

Footsteps behind her didn’t disturb her until someone sat at her side.

She opened her eyes and looked over to see Leoben sitting there.

“Sure you don’t want to find another stream to sit by?” she asked dryly, leaning her head towards him.

“I chose this one in particular,” he answered simply.

Tory half-heartedly raised an eyebrow. “Pity. From one of my own creations. Nice.”

“Not pity,” Leoben said, looking to her. “Though in any case, neither of our actions can have the memory that makes the bond of creator and created worth mentioning.”

“True,” Tory said, with an almost pleasant relief. She hadn’t missed the days when the Cylons all but worshiped the ground she walked on, even though for a time she thought she would.

“I came here to sympathize,” Leoben added after a second, still looking at her.

Tory coughed in her surprise, but the moment was bitter a second later and her limbs tensed. “That _is_ pity,” she retorted. “How else could you possibly relate?”

“I sinned against one of God’s servants,” Leoben said, quiet and simple as he looked out at the stream.

It had been so easy to forget who Leoben was known as, especially now that he and Kara had parted ways. But Tory’s bitterness faded. “You’re right,” she said flatly, “you did worse.” It didn’t hold any condemnation—it couldn’t—and she knew he could tell.

They sat as the water in the stream bubbled past them, the light reddening as the day ended, and soon they would have to sleep before another early dawn called them to work. But they sat, two creatures who had broken others, who had “sinned” beyond true forgiveness, and who didn’t know what to do afterwards because despite their regret it didn’t break them to think about what they’d done.

“You really thought you had a destiny with her, didn’t you?” Tory asked after a second.

“Yes,” Leoben answered simply.

“And I thought being a Cylon was going to open up new things I had to do,” Tory said, her arms resting on her knees as they were brought halfway to her chest. “Maybe,” she said after a moment, “you know, maybe we should stop looking for destinies. It does seem to be our problem.” She glanced at him.

A small smile crossed Leoben’s face. “Maybe we should focusing on navigating the stream in front of us, not predicting what awaits around the next curve,” he said in a surprisingly close tone.

“Yes, that,” Tory said. Her voice was still dry, but she wasn’t tense anymore.

They took their own advice.

Had they looked forward to a future destiny at that moment, they might have seen a first soft kiss by the stream-bank, frantic love-making on a later cool night, sticking to each other as they drifted apart from the too black-and-white Terran society, spending nights in guiltless silence that felt closer than conversations full of sweet words, and overall a kind of strange peace with each other that didn’t ask for forgiveness because they didn’t quite believe in it. But they didn’t need to see it to reach that destiny, if it could be called so, on their own. And so they were right as well.

*******

Lee worried as winter approached. He looked at how far they had scaled back and it wasn’t enough. He’d been elected in charge of resources, and with Sonja in charge of housing he at least knew he could trust his colleague. Of all of the leaders, he felt like they were the only ones who felt the future bearing down on them faster than they were ready for.

“Yes, of course things are fine _now_,” Sonja had protested at the latest meeting, where Paulla and the other religious leaders were asking for religious free days. “But we slack off even a little and we may find ourselves eroded away in merely a year’s time.”

Lee had found it a relief that when it had to be said, he wasn’t always the one who had to say it.

“Look at how few natural resources we’ve been able to use,” Sonja said now, squinting over the candle they were using to stay up past sunset in the government headquarters. Her hair seemed to glow in the dim light, even pulled back tightly out of the way.

“Humans evolved to find the Colonies’ plants and minerals useful; we can’t assume the same here,” Lee said.

“We don’t _have_ to evolve,” Sonja objected, looking up at him. “We can adapt things to us.”

Lee made a small noise, knowing she was right. He looked down at the data before him.

Sonja then made a sound that was half cough and half laugh.

Lee looked up to see an odd smile on her face. “What?” he asked, wondering what mistake he could have made.

“We both seemed to think for a moment that I was exactly human,” she said, cocking her head and smiling.

Lee just looked at her, lost for words or thoughts. “Well—”

“I’m not human, Lee,” she said, with an amused laugh. Her eyes were still grave, but warm as they met his.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t actually thought of it since they’d come to Terra. “Well, there are about a hundred thousand things more relevant to you or us or this world,” he said with a smile and a shrug.

She managed to pull her smile back into a more professional quirk. “Good to know,” she said in a warm voice.

Lee found himself a little lost in looking at her attempts to hide her pleased amusement, and the way the light danced in her eyes like that. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who would fight iron-hard to keep their entire civilization alive, even when the civilization seemed to have other ideas.

He shook his head, just glad that at least two of them hadn’t been corrupted by politics yet, and went back to his work.

*******

Winter came hard on Terra, destroying any notions of perfection and paradise. Crowding into dwellings that now felt inadequate, fighting to keep supplies, watching medical equipment and medicines fall apart or disappear almost daily...Sam had never seen family count for so much. The past didn’t matter here, just the present people.

Individual houses were left behind when the weather threatened isolation, group dwellings proving more practical for all. Kara and Sam were some of the first to join, and it was generally assumed that it must be because being alone hadn’t suited them.

Sam had found himself utterly lost when he came home one day and found Kara gone. Just gone. He’d known it would come, but there had been no warning, no sign at all—they bickered sometimes, yes, but he thought they were together on making things work anyways. Now she was gone, and before he had time to adjust he felt his world fall apart, fear and grief throwing him to a shuddering off-center.

When she showed up an hour later in her flight suit, it was the worst argument they’d had in a long time, not least because neither side knew the other’s story. By the time all the emotion had come out, the story had as well. Kara had taken one of the grounded Raptors and jumped to where Galactica’s corpse still floated in space, almost out of power at last. That was all.

All Sam had to mention was that he thought she had left him for good without even a word.

They stood in the house, defensive stances, heaving chests from the shouting and adrenaline fueling everything. Stood and looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said first, voice breaking as he realized what a fool he’d been. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, no matter what I thought.”

“No, don’t,” Kara said, shaking her head, fire from her eyes replaced with sudden fierce tears as she stepped forward. “I know you shouldn’t have, but god, Sam, I didn’t realize. I wouldn’t—I’m sorry.”

Sam shook a little as the change in emotion left him feeling drained, and Kara stepped forward again, guilt on her face as she touched his arm.

He broke down and gathered her in his arms, squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry, Kara,” he whispered.

“Why?” she answered in his ear, voice a little broken. “Why you, Sam?”

“Because I haven’t learned how to keep my heart in check when it counts,” he murmured against her, still holding her. “Because sometimes I don’t know why you _don’t_ just disappear, and why you even want me to go with you when you do. I’m not like you; I muddle through, I don’t soar.”

“Sam, one of us soaring is plenty,” Kara said, a teary laugh along with her words as she squeezed him back. “But if anyone is muddling through all this, it’s not you. You’re a better human than I.” Her words were wry, but the full meaning was meant.

“I don’t believe it,” he snorted through his emotion, pressing her close.

“I never even apologized for all that time before,” she said. “For pushing you away, for using you, for breaking your heart.”

“I was never flawless, Kara,” he objected, pulling back so he could look into her face.

“I didn’t say that,” she said with a bit of a rough chuckle. “But—” She broke off, shaking her head a little and rubbing at his arm still wrapped around her.

“Do you always try to win, even when it comes to being the most screwed up?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Gotta be on top,” she said, even as she half-smacked his side. “I’m not just saying it, Sam, I _am_ sorry.”

He pulled her back close, kissing her hair once, twice, three times. “I know. I always knew. It didn’t make me not fail anyways.”

“We all fail,” she sighed against his chest. “I expected that. Your failures are the ones I want closest to me still.”

“Good,” he answered, and if his voice didn’t waver, he felt like it did. But she was in his arms, and she wanted to be, and so he needed to stop letting his heart run away from him like that

After a minute more she pulled back and kissed him, and neither made a comment on the tear streaks. Once they were tangled in their bed and the tears had been kissed or licked or sucked away in clothes-rumpling hair-mussing passion, there was no point anyways. They still had times where they had to keep living forgiveness, but even now it still felt like a good idea. In fact, they’d been going at it so long, Sam didn’t know what else they could do.

But life wasn’t just about them, and so they moved to communal gatherings in the winter for everything else. Sitting around heaters, wondering how long the remaining fuel would last before they’d be stuck with wood from the planet, talking about the future and trying not to reference the Colonies—they were just like anyone else. And it felt right.

The Agathons were busy with their three children, and so of all people to gravitate towards them, it ended up being Caprica Six and Gaius Baltar. Sam had known Caprica a little before, but the connection between them as two couples still made no sense to him, and less to Kara. Night fell eventually, and sleep overtook the other people in their dwelling, but all four of them stayed awake by the heater.

“We haven’t seen the angels since we arrived on Terra,” Caprica said quietly after a few minutes of silence, and it all made a little more sense then.

“If you’re asking me, I have no idea,” Kara muttered, wrapped inside Sam’s coat with him to keep better warmth.

“We’re not asking anything in particular,” Gaius said. “But just—we thought we were crazy for so long, and now we aren’t, but if we say anything it will still sound a little—”

“Nuts,” Sam finished for him.

“Exactly,” Gaius said and nodded.

“Well, if it helps, I could confess my own journey from thinking I was insane to realizing the only slightly less insane truth,” Sam offered.

Kara glanced up from in his arms. “Really?”

He sometimes forgot that she still didn’t remember. “Unless you mind,” he added.

“Actually, I’m getting used to stories of my former more amazing life,” she said, a bit of a snort as she snuggled deeper into his coat.

Caprica rolled her eyes, but Sam told the story anyways. It was getting harder to remember Earth and his time there, but the more he told, the less interesting they seemed to be compared to everything since then. He didn’t say it, but when they all fell silent again after Caprica and Baltar had shared their own embarrassing stories, and Kara had smirked and seemed to find it exactly her sort of thing, he admitted to himself that Cavil hadn’t really done him a disservice. Not in the long run.

He had to wonder, though, if his destiny was always to end up like this.

*******

Most of Terra survived the first winter. Most of them survived the second.

The third didn’t go so well, but things carried on and their society was still surviving. And even though Adama had gone off on his own like so many others left broken by the journey to Terra, he would have been glad to know that his advice on the start was being followed and there were many new children.

Ishay might hardly get any sleep due to worry for all their tiny lives now that she barely had more than her two hands to work with, but there was nothing she lived for more than keeping people alive, and she and her husband Dr. Morgan (one of the more prominent Twos) could be seen all over the settlement no matter what was going on.

The government was falling apart, and smaller communities were starting to form, but catastrophe wasn’t on the horizon. And ironically enough for the more anarchist splinter groups, it was because of the original government. Even without the traditional power they’d once had, Lee and Sonja never stopped planning for the future. Even pausing to consider their own only happened in their free time.

“When I look back on this, I think I’ll consider it my destiny,” Lee said when he stopped by Sam and Kara’s place to share the news.

“Sonja?” Kara asked with a teasing skepticism.

“No, this,” he said, taking it in stride, waving his hand around the visible settlement. “Ever since I gave up Viper wings, I’ve felt like—like I was always meant to help people. This is going to sound really sad, but Sonja was the first person who didn’t try to make me think twice about it.”

Kara didn’t say that he sounded sad, even though her lips still quirked. “She was the first person who agreed with you _and_ was sane.”

He gave her a look and she laughed. “I’m serious, Kara,” he said after a moment.

She smiled and hugged him. “Yeah, Lee, just teasing. It’s written all over your face; you always were obvious.”

Lee and Sonja were married only days before Caprica had her first child, this time without any fanfare at all. After three years, she was hardly the only Cylon woman to have a child, and some Cylon/Cylon pairings had prospered by now. No one really talked about that anymore, but those who knew them well had noticed both Athena and Caprica settling down just a little more once they weren’t the only ones.

Another year passed, and the civilization completely split, with some fuss but at least no war. Tory and Leoben left with the one group, as did Saul and Ellen. Everyone else that Kara and Sam knew stayed, most of them with at least one child by now. Kara and Sam just watched and laughed and loved them, and if their shared looks of private meaning were now obvious to everyone, they didn’t seem to notice. Something was coming for them soon, but they hadn’t reached their fill yet.

*******

After six years, six long winters, six long summers, each day a gift that they had to work to keep safe—after all that, Colonial and Cylon societies might as well have not existed. Somewhere, people kept all the old books and artifacts. Somewhere, people still recited the histories. Everywhere else, people would have looked on all that as a burden, and gladly chosen the mish-mash and struggle of what Terran life had become.

One night, stumbling wearily to bed, Kara lay in Sam’s arms and was too exhausted to sleep. After last weeks’ funeral for Sherman Cottle, it had almost prompted her to say something. But she didn’t, and then today, the Agathons had just added another child to the family and Kara had stayed up all night for the labor with Athena and Helo while Sam watched the older siblings. Before they’d left, she’d seen in both parents’ eyes the renewed joy and vigor. For them, life had never been so good.

Now Kara ran her hand up and down Sam’s chest as she lay there with him, and how familiar and comfortable he felt only impressed on her that time had built something dear out of their relationship. Almost ten years as humans—for anyone else, it would be just the beginning. For them, with all they’d done, it was almost a lifetime.

“Sam,” she whispered into the night.

“Kara,” he whispered back.

“Life and death—it’s all getting small,” she said.

“I noticed,” he answered, his hand caressing her shoulder.

“You’re ready, then?” she asked, a little surprised but not much.

“If this planet is my destiny, then it doesn’t feel like it,” he said. “I’ve been longing for something more for a long time.”

“Something more what?” she had to ask.

“More perfect,” he said.

He didn’t mean perfect without flaws. She knew what he meant, something whole and complete and finished. Humanity was going there, but it was enjoying the journey, smelling the roses. It was good for them. There was another perfection for her and him.

Kara’s eyes drifted closed, weary, but knowing what was coming next.

Morning rose as always over Terra. Of all the family they’d cherished over the past six years, only a few needed this last visit. She could see that Helo and Athena didn’t understand what she and Sam were trying to say, but it would be okay, it would make sense later. Sam left to find Saul and Ellen, and Kara found Lee. She didn’t even need words; he’d been reading the looks for years now, and he’d seen them start to add up. He just nodded and held her gaze for a long time, but turned back to Sonja and his son of his own accord.

Sam was waiting for her in the last Raptor when she arrived with the key and a small bag. “The last real technology,” she commented, as they closed the almost rusty door.

Buckling in for the flight, Kara took them up to the atmosphere so that they looked down over Terra in all its blue-green beauty. Then, in a flash of light, they found empty space.

Galactica had barely moved in all the years, just sitting in the nothingness. Back broken, power down, her metal form just waited out in the distance beyond any stars.

“One last blaze of glory?” Sam asked when Kara handed him the bag, as they stepped aboard in their spacesuits.

Kara nodded, body and human heart just a little weary, but spirit eager to move.

They hooked up the battery to CIC, brought back life support for just a few minutes. Kara input the coordinates of the Terran sun into the computer, caring for what bits and pieces would be left of her old ship after this jump.

“Going home at last,” she said, standing next to Sam at the console.

“The first time for some of us,” he reminded her, taking her hand.

“Time to get on a new ride,” Kara said with a broad grin.

He smiled in kind, and gripped her hand tightly with anticipation.

Kara turned the jump key, and Galactica disintegrated into the Terran sun.

Two spirits flew fast and high, mingling with each other as they almost made the universe laugh with glee. New life and vigor and crazy missions of a different sort waited for them to seize on the other side.

~~ _The End  
_ ~~ ** _The Beginning_ **


End file.
